


Vows Kept and Broken

by DKNC



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-03
Updated: 2017-03-21
Packaged: 2017-12-04 06:03:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 210,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/707359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DKNC/pseuds/DKNC
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is actually a continuation of SomeEnchantedEve's beautiful story "this house no longer feels like home" which explores the premise of Ned taking the black instead of being executed. It is the first piece of fanfiction I ever found, and along with joely_jo's "Of Dragons, Roses, and a Second-Hand Match" is responsible for my taking up this little hobby. Upon rereading Eve's story recently, I had a burning desire to see where it went next, and she graciously gave me permission to do so. So this is for her. If you have not read her story, go there first, or mine won't make much sense :)  <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/444941">this house no longer feels like home</a> by <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/users/SomeEnchantedEve">SomeEnchantedEve</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Catelyn

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SomeEnchantedEve](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SomeEnchantedEve/gifts).



He was gone. She knew it before she opened her eyes, could feel his absence as strongly as she’d felt it every morning for more than a year now. But this morning she also felt that too long missed familiar sweet soreness between her thighs that told her his presence here with her, inside her, had not been a dream. She sat up in the cold, empty bed in this room that was neither her warm, comfortable chamber nor his long empty and unused one. They had clung to one another with desperation and longing, coupling frantically. His need for her had been as great as hers for him. She knew that. And yet, he had gone without speaking a word to her.

 _Craven_! she thought furiously as the tears began to fill her eyes. _How could you just go?_ She knew he wasn’t gone only from this bedchamber. He would have left Winterfell entirely, continuing on his journey to collect more wretched men for the godsforsaken Night’s Watch. She began shivering, whether from the chill in the air or the chill in her heart she could not say. Anger, pain, and a sadness so deep she felt herself drowning in it descended upon her, and she could not stop the cry that came to her throat. It went on and on, coming from the deepest part of her as she rocked back and forth on the bed that was not hers.

Vaguely, she was aware someone had been knocking at the door and calling to her, but she didn’t become fully conscious of it until the door opened, and she beheld her son enter the room to look upon her with a pained and worried expression. A flush of embarrassment was quickly added to that expression, and Catelyn realized that the furs had fallen to her waist as she sat there, exposing her naked breasts.

She quickly covered herself. “Robb,” she said softly. “He is gone.”

Her bearded son nodded. He had averted his eyes when he had first seen her, but now he looked at her again, and she saw the little boy there in spite of the whiskers. “I know, Mother. I saw him.”

“When?” she asked, pulling the furs with her as she started to rise.

“Earlier. He’s well away now, Mother,” Robb said gently, crushing any hope she had of catching him. “He meant to go without speaking to any of us. I feared he would do something like that, so I set someone to watch for him and come get me.” He hung his head. “I couldn’t let him go without saying goodbye.”

Catelyn sat back down, pulling the furs more tightly around her. They did nothing to ease the cold chill she felt, but at least they eased her son’s embarrassment. “What did he say?” she whispered.

Robb’s blue eyes filled with tears then. “He could barely speak. He told me he was proud of all of us, that we must be strong, and that we must not think of him. He is no longer our father.” Her son’s voice choked as he said the last, and Catelyn’s heart broke for him as much as it did for herself. “But he’s wrong, Mother!” Robb said fiercely, biting back his own tears. “He is my father, and I will not allow this injustice to stand!”

Catelyn’s pride in her son gave her the strength to stand then. “No, Robb,” she said softly, walking toward him while carefully keeping the furs well wrapped around her. “We will not. The Lannisters have won for now, and we must bide our time. But we will clear your father’s name, my son. Do not doubt it.”

He nodded. Then he looked embarrassed again. “Mother,” he said, hesitantly, “You need to go to your own chambers now. I . . .I don’t think anyone else heard you.”

“How did you . . .” she started to ask, but then she knew. “He sent you to me, didn’t he?”

“He didn’t want you found here,” Robb said, looking at his feet. “By anyone else, I mean.”

She reached out and put her hand under his chin, raising his eyes to hers. “Robb, I am not ashamed. Your father can talk about vows and oaths all he likes. I made a vow, too. In the sept at Riverrun. All I did last night was keep it.”

Robb still looked uncomfortable, but he nodded. “I know that, Mother, but we can’t have any trouble for us or for Father. If anyone believes he has broken his vows to the Night’s Watch . . .” He let his words trail off.

“You are right, Robb,” she sighed. “The Lannisters would need little excuse to take your father’s head even now. And there are some here in the north who wouldn’t mind seeing House Stark fall in order that they might profit.”

“Roose Bolton?” Robb asked.

Catelyn smiled grimly. Her son was learning this game. “Among a few others. Rickard Karstark loves you little since the death of his sons in the Whispering Wood.”

“I know, Mother,” said Robb. “I shall play the dutiful Lord of Winterfell, loyal vassal to the Iron Throne, while I must, but we will find a way. I promise you. We will get Father back.”

She forced herself to smile at him. “Go now,” she said. “I shall dress and come to the Great Hall to break my fast.” Before he could say anything else, she added, “And I shall come from my chambers.”

Robb returned her smile and took his leave with a kiss of her hand and a murmured, “My lady,” that sounded so like his father, Catelyn’s heart nearly stopped.

They would clear Ned’s name. Neither she nor Robb would accept less. But get him back? He’d said the words. Words spoken by Eddard Stark were more than wind. He kept his vows. _Except for the one he made to me,_ she couldn’t help thinking bitterly, as she collected her clothing and dressed to return to her own chamber.

For the next few weeks, Catelyn Stark tried hard to keep thoughts of the man who claimed he was no longer her husband out of her mind, but succeeded no better than she had during the previous year. On her better days, she she simply missed him with an ache so deep it had become a part of her and feared for his safety and health with every breath. On her worse days, she silently raged at him for his inflexible sense of honor and even hated him for abandoning her whether it was his fault or not.

She had plenty to do, helping Robb correspond with Ned’s bannermen (she still thought of them as Ned’s, she couldn’t help it), seeking out information about the activities of Stannis Baratheon and the mysterious rumors of a dragon queen in the east, running the daily activities of Winterfell, and planning for the upcoming visit of Robb’s fiancee, Roslin Frey. All of these helped distract her from thoughts of Ned, even if she could never put him out of her mind entirely. They also had allowed her to ignore a more immediate concern. Within a moon’s turn of Ned’s visit to Winterfell, however, she was forced to face the truth. She felt ill every morning, and her moonblood had not arrived. She could not ignore the fact that she was with child.

She laughed bitterly to keep herself from weeping and wondered what it was between the two of them that caused their briefest encounters to be blessed so with children. One night with Ned had given her Robb, and the terror of being left a widow with a child before she’d ever truly been a wife. Now one more night with Ned had given her a child doomed to bear a bastard’s name unless she could go through with the only solution she could see.

She called Robb to speak with her in his solar. _Ned’s solar._ Her son took one look at her face and knew this was not to be a happy conversation. “What troubles you, Mother?”

“I need you to call your bannermen to Winterfell, Robb.” His expression told her he had noticed she referred to them as his rather than his father’s.

“Whatever for?” he asked. “Roslin and her party will be here in a fortnight, and I will hopefully be spending my time courting her.”

“We don’t need them all,” Catelyn said. “Definitely the Lords Umber and Glover, and Lady Mormont. We need them here first. And then we shall have need of either Lord Bolton or Lord Karstark. Both if we can get them here, and whoever else can come.”

Robb frowned. The Greatjon Umber, Galbart Glover, and Maege Mormont were three who had been working actively and secretly with them since Ned had first been sent to the Wall to find a way to topple the Lannisters and bring justice back to the north. He would know that bringing them together meant she had something important planned. “Why Bolton and Karstark?” he asked.

“If all goes as I plan, and I am granted the tremendous favor I must beg, we will need them for witnesses.”

“Witnesses? To what, Mother?”

“The wedding,” she said, feeling her stomach drop as she said it out loud for the first time.

“My wedding isn’t for moons yet,” Robb said, still looking puzzled.

“Not yours, Robb. Mine.”

Now he looked at her in astonishment. “Mother! How can you even think such a thing! We will get him back. You could never betray Father like that! I know you couldn’t!”

“Please lower your voice, Robb,” she said quietly. “I am doing this for your father. For all of us.” She hesitated, but knew she had to say it for him to understand. “I am with child, Robb.”

“With child?” he repeated incredulously. “But how could you be with child?”

She raised her brows at him. “You know where I spent the night when your father stayed here. Did you think we spent all our time together conversing?”

“I . . .I . . .” he stammered, clearly uncomfortable with this line of conversation. “But only one night!” he finally exclaimed.

“One night is enough, sweetling,” she sighed. “You are proof of that.”

“I won’t let you do this,” he said. “This babe is my brother or sister. It belongs at Winterfell.”

“To be labeled a bastard? And myself labeled a whore? Who will that serve, Robb?”

“You are no whore!” he shouted, and she motioned him to quiet his voice once more. “You are not a whore, my lady, and this child is no bastard. Everyone will realize it is Father’s child.”

“And he then will be labeled an oath breaker.” She sighed. “It cannot be, Robb. Would that it could, but it cannot.”

He looked her in the eyes then, and his expression turned grim. “There is another way,” he started to say.

“Do not say moon tea,” she told him. “I have thought about it, I assure you. But I cannot kill my child. Ned’s child. I can’t. Don’t ask it of me.” She hated the tears in her eyes then. She didn’t want to sway Robb with tears.

He was silent a long time then before he finally asked her, “What exactly is your plan then?”

She told him, and he went to send ravens to the first three they needed to gather. Fortunately, Lord Umber was at Deepwood Motte with Lord Glover just now as they’d recently met secretly with an envoy from the Greyjoys. Last Hearth was a great deal further away from Winterfell, and time was of the essence.

Time, in one sense, seemed to move at a crawl once the summons was sent, and Catelyn found herself counting the days and watching for any change in her appearance that would alert anyone else to her secret. She could barely breathe at times for fear of being discovered. Yet, in another sense, time moved too fast. She spent every second she could with her children, for if she got her wish, she would be leaving them once more, and they would not understand why. She couldn’t tell them the truth, and she feared they might hate her for what she was about to do.

Finally, her son’s three most trusted bannermen sat with her and Robb in Robb’s, _Ned’s,_ solar, and she told them. There was no condemnation from any of them, but the sympathy was nearly as bad.

“This should be joyous news, my lady,” said Maege Mormont bitterly. “Gods damn the Lannisters for what they have done to you.”

Catelyn reflected briefly that no one ever questioned Maege about the father of her own daughters, and she wished devoutly that she were a Mormont of Bear Island. “It is clear that I must wed and quickly.”

Robb, having heard all this before, simply sat grimly, but the other three stared at her wide-eyed.

“If I bear a child at Winterfell nine moons after Ned was known to be here, only a fool would not know it is his. And if I merely flee to hide somewhere, I will be suspected of fleeing to be with him or to plot something on his behalf. The Lannisters will surely act against him.”

Maege Mormont nodded gravely. “I fear you speak truly, Lady Catelyn, but for you to wed another . . .”

Catelyn saw understanding in the other woman’s eyes. “I could never truly wed another man,” she said. “Eddard Stark is my lord husband, whatever the law of the realm says about it, and I shall take no other. Make no mistake about that.” She swallowed hard. “But I must be seen to do just that. By marrying me to one of his vassals, Robb can publicly affirm that he has accepted his father’s sentence to the Night’s Watch, as well as protecting me and the child. Then, if . . .”

“When, Mother, not if,” Robb interrupted. “When we succeed in our efforts and restore my father’s title to him, we can annul this false marriage. We shall all put our seals to testaments this day that we know my mother to be with child by my father now, and that any future union of hers will go unconsummated. I shall keep these safe until it comes time to reveal them.”

Silence met this pronouncement until Galbart Glover stood. “My lady,” he said formally, bowing to Catelyn. “I would be pleased to make you the Lady of Deepwood Motte, for your own sake as well as that of my lord.”

Catelyn smiled at him as her eyes teared up. “Oh, Lord Glover, I do thank you, but I fear I cannot accept.”

He looked stunned. “But . . .you said . . .I thought . . .”

“Yes,” she said. “I must wed. But I cannot wed you.” She took his hand then. “Your brother, Robett, is your heir, my lord, and his children after that. My son believes we shall succeed in all our hopes, and I pray he is correct, but if we fail . . .” She put her other hand over her belly. “This child would become your heir . . .this child who is no blood of yours. I cannot ask that of you.”

He looked down then, realizing the truth of what she said.

“It has to be me then, doesn’t it?” came Lord Umber’s gruff voice. “I have a son. My Jon will be my heir however many babes I claim on however many wives. And my own lady wife has been dead these long years now. It has to be me.”

Catelyn met his eyes. “I could think of no other, my lord. No other I could trust. But it is much to ask, and you have every right to tell me no.”

The big man shook his head. “I do not, my lady. I am sworn to House Stark, and if this is the manner in which I can protect my liege lord’s lady and his child, I shall do it. Last Hearth is a small keep compared to Winterfell, the people fewer and rougher. But all there will welcome you, and I shall never let you come to harm.”

“I thank you,” she said. Then she put her head down, blinking hard to stop the tears which threatened.

Rickard Karstark and Roose Bolton arrived within three days of each other. Several others came as well, once the wedding was announced. Karstark and Bolton were civil enough, but each wore an air of suspicion like a winter cloak. The house staff had come to Robb complaining that Bolton’s servants were making rude insinuations about Catelyn and Umber. When he had brought these to her, Catelyn had actually laughed.

“Let them,” she said. “Better yet, make sure the serving maids tell his men how upset I was that your father insisted on sleeping in the guest quarters, and how he left without bidding me farewell.

” “Mother . . .”

“No, Robb,” she insisted. “Let them see me as an angry, bitter woman whose husband has made it clear he no longer wants her.” It hurt to say the words as she feared there was more truth in them than Robb knew. “It makes it easier for them believe I would give my consent to this marriage scheme designed to demonstrate our commitment to the Iron Throne.”

He had nodded and said nothing else. Robb said little to her these days. He seemed to feel guilty somehow that he could not keep her safely here, although Robb had done nothing to cause any of this. He seemed to grow older before her eyes. The Frey girl he was to marry had arrived at Winterfell as well, bringing her retinue. The castle was full of people, and yet Catelyn had never felt more alone. Roslin Frey was a tiny slip of a girl, but she seemed sweet enough, and Catelyn hoped she could bring Robb comfort. The idea that she would be far away to the north on the day that her firstborn married the girl broke her heart, but she could not tarry here much longer. The babe would begin to show.

Her other children broke her heart as well. Rickon, alone, was content. He barely remembered Ned, a fact which devasted her. Lord Umber and Robb had agreed that being so young, he should remain with her, and so he would be coming to the Last Hearth. He was saddened at the thought of leaving his siblings, but more excited by the fact that he was the one doing the leaving this time.

Arya had raged at her when she heard of the marriage and called her terrible things. Catelyn had cried for hours when her younger daughter had finally run out of insults and run out of the Great Keep. She had forbidden Robb to bring her back or discipline her in any way. Catelyn longed to comfort her in some way, but she had no comfort to give. At ten years of age, Arya was too young to be burdened with this secret, and so she must be burdened with the belief that her mother was a traitor to her father. Catelyn prayed for the strength to bear her child’s hatred for her, and prayed that Arya could forgive her when she knew all the truth.

Bran had cried. Catelyn had pulled him up from the special chair with wheels they’d had made for him and held him on her lap. He didn’t like to cry. Being crippled made him even more determined to be brave and manly in all things, but learning that she planned to marry Lord Umber and leave Winterfell for good had undone him. She was glad they were alone, so she could hold him as he cried. “Why?” he had asked. “Why? Why? Why?”

She had held him close and said, “I do not want to leave you, sweetling. You must know that. Everything I do, I do to protect you. And Robb, and Sansa, and Arya, and Rickon. You must believe that, Bran.”

He had looked at her then, with those too old eyes of his. “And Father? Who will protect Father, Mother? Do you still care about that?”

She had grabbed him tightly then, and her own tears had spilled down her cheeks. “Oh, Bran! I will do all I can to protect your father for all my life, child! I promise you that!”

Bran had asked her no more questions and had been quiet and melancholy since, but at least he did not avoid her like Arya did.

Sansa had surprised her the most. She knew her daughter had suffered in King’s Landing. She knew she’d been forced to grow up more quickly than she should have, but she was unprepared for Sansa’s response to her announcement.

“Is Robb making you do this to strengthen our position with the Lannisters?” she’d asked quietly.

“Robb isn’t making me do anything, sweetling.”

“Of course, he is,” Sansa had said. “He’s the Lord of Winterfell, and you don’t get a choice.”

 _Gods, my babe! What did they do to you?_ she had thought. “Come here,” she had said, and bid Sansa sit beside her. “You are wrong and right, Sansa. You are wrong about Robb. It is his decision whom I wed, yes, but he would never force me. He will never force you, either, do you understand? He will be looking for a suitable match for you, but he will not act without consulting me about it, and certainly he will not wed you to anyone you cannot abide.” She paused. “You are right that I have no real choice here, though. This marriage will go a long way toward convincing the Lannisters that your father is resigned to his fate at the Wall and that House Stark intends to make no trouble for them. I would be willing to do far more than wed an honorable man like Lord Umber to keep your father alive and all of you safe.”

Sansa nodded, but said nothing. “Besides,” Catelyn continued, attempting to smile. “If I marry Lord Umber, we prevent the Lannisters from suddenly realizing I’m marriageable again and sending me south to wed some wretched bannerman of theirs.” Sansa nodded again, but her attempt at a smile was even more pitiful than Catelyn’s.

Finally, the day of the wedding arrived. Catelyn remembered little of the ceremony in the Godswood at Winterfell. She concentrated on her children, including the secret child hidden safely beneath her gown, reminding herself why she did this thing. Robb looked grim, but no one took that amiss. The men all just joked that the Tully-looking boy became more a Stark every day. Rickon just looked bored. He was annoyed that Shaggydog had not been allowed in the godswood during the wedding. Sansa and Bran looked despondent, and Arya had refused to come. Catelyn had refused to allow anyone to force her.

She paid little attention to the words she spoke or those she heard Lord Umber say. She forced herself not to flinch when he put that ugly cloak with its giant sigil on her shoulders. She wondered what Ned would think when he heard of this. Surely he would know. He had to realize there would only ever be one reason she would do this.

The feast was miserable. Much japing had gone on in the castle about the Greatjon’s loud and rough nature, and she had told him he must behave as if he anticipated his wedding night as much as any other bridegroom. So, under the watchful eyes of Rickard Karstark and Roose Bolton, he had kissed her soundly any number of times as they sat at the High Table, and had put his hands in all manner of inappropriate places when they danced. All of this brought roars of approval from the progressively more drunken guests, but Catelyn felt sick, and wished devoutly for some way to disappear.

Greatjon Umber seemed to sense her misery, for while the night was still young, and no clamors for a bedding had even been begun, he suddenly swooped her up into his arms as easily as if she were a child at the end of one of their dances.

“Dance on!” he roared at the assembly. “But I’ve a wife now, and I mean to bed her!” He looked at Catelyn’s face. “We’ve waited quite long enough, my lady!” he said with a lecherous grin. Then he turned and carried her from the Great Hall without another word.

A few brave souls made half-hearted attempts to follow them, but the musicians had already started the next song, and the vast majority of wedding guests simply wanted to keep dancing and drinking. Jon Umber easily fended off their pursuers, insisting that she was his alone, and she was more than grateful when he brought her to her chambers still fully clothed.

“Thank you,” she breathed, as he set her down.”

“My lady, forgive my behavior. I would never . . .”

“Be still, Jon,” she said. “You did precisely what I asked of you, and the gods know it is more than I have any right to ask.”

He looked taken aback for a moment. “You may ask anything of me, my lady,” he finally said.

“Then I ask you to stop calling me ‘my lady’ when we are alone. My name is Catelyn.” _Not Cat, though,_ she thought. _Not to you._ “This may not be a real marriage, but you have proven yourself the truest friend Ned or I could ever have.” She hesitated and bit her lip to keep from crying. “And once we reach Last Hearth, I would like to have at least one person who calls me by my name,” she added in a small voice.

He nodded at her. “I shall have to stay here tonight . . .Catelyn. I guarantee the room will be watched.”

She sighed. “You’ll have to do more than stay in the room. I have no doubt the servants will be quizzed as to where precisely they find us in the morning. I fear I will require your assistance with the laces on the back of this wretched gown, and then if you would be so kind as to turn your back, I shall change for bed.”

The touch of the large man’s hands on her back felt wrong, and he fumbled miserably with the laces. _Ned would have had me naked by now,_ she thought, and then banished all thought of Ned from this dreadful night. Finally, the laces were loose enough that she could get herself free, and he stepped as far away as the room allowed while she undressed and put on her nightshift.

Once she was safely under the covers, she told him he could turn around. He undressed to his breeches and then climbed into bed beside her. They lay there not talking or touching. Catelyn was thinking of the thousands of nights spent with Ned in that bed, and she wondered what the Greatjon thought about. She didn’t ask him.

She slept very little if at all, and easily heard the sound of the latch lifting when the serving maids arrived in the morning. She scooted herself so that she lay against Jon beneath the covers, startling him. He must not have been truly asleep either, though, because he quickly pulled the furs up high enough to disguise the fact she was clothed and raised himself almost over top of her.

He then turned his face toward the first young girl to enter the room. “Can’t you see we’re not ready to be disturbed?” he roared at her. The poor girl flushed crimson and fled the room, pushing the girl behind her out as well.

Lord Umber then sat up. “Now you can get up and dress in peace, my lady,” he said with a small smile. “I don’t think they’ll be back for awhile.”

“Thank you, Jon. And my name is Catelyn.”

By midmorning, everyone’s fast had been broken, their bags had been loaded, and goodbyes had been said. Rickon was positively bouncing up and down on his horse. He got his own mount to ride, but it was to be tethered to one of Lord Umber’s men’s. No one trusted him with the reins.

She had embraced Robb, Sansa, and Bran tightly, having to force herself to let them go. When her eyes scanned the area around them, Robb knew whom she sought. “She’s over there,” he said, nodding toward the gate she would soon ride through without any hope of returning in the near future.

Arya sat on the rock wall and did not look up as Catelyn approached her. Catelyn made no attempt to touch her daughter, although everything in her longed to do just that. “I love you, Arya,” she said. “And I will love you every day I am away from you, and love you even more when I come back.” Arya said nothing and did not look up. “I will come back,” Catelyn said. “Only death will prevent me from doing so. You cannot understand why I’m going or what I’ve done, and I cannot explain it to you. I know that. But remember, child, whatever you think or feel, I still love you. Nothing will ever change that.” She looked at her silent daughter for another moment and then returned to the others to mount her own horse.

She was dressed warmly for the day was cold. Jon had told her repeatedly that Last Hearth was far colder than Winterfell. As her horse passed out of the gates, Catelyn did not look back. She rode away from four of her children and her home. She rode away from the name she had called her own for over fifteen years. She rode away from the place where she had lived with, eaten with, worked with, and made love with the only man she would ever truly call husband. She thought about Ned at the Wall and doubted if either Last Hearth or the Wall could possibly be as cold as her heart was in this moment.

 


	2. Eddard

The cold cut through the heavy cloak, hood, and gloves as if they were insubstantial every time the wind blew. Ned watched the men in the training yard and shook his head in disgust. Very few of the men he’d brought back from Horn Hill were worth much. After months at the Wall, most still could not make even the most rudimentary defense against Endrew Tarth as he struck them down repeatedly. Ned shook his head. Randyll Tarly had not been far wrong when he’d referred to the men as scum. Oh, there were a couple that would make passable stewards, perhaps, and one man who actually had a talent for carpentry if he could be kept sober, but no skilled fighters, and perhaps a thimbleful of honor among all of them together.

Turning from the yard to make his way to Lord Commander Mormont’s quarters, Ned wondered when Jon would arrive with the men from the Karhold. The weather was brutal at times, as autumn was well upon them, but he should have had ample time to make the journey there and back by now. He had been surprised when Mormont had chosen Jon to make that journey when Ned himself had been to the Karhold more times than anyone at Castle Black who wasn’t originally from there, but the Old Bear had merely muttered something about not sending Ned right back out and walked away without saying more. As usual, Ned had gotten the impression that the man knew something he wasn’t sharing, but he knew better than to ask.

 _I have no family,_ he thought dully. _I have no reason to ask after them. I have no bannermen. What transpires in the Karhold or_ _anywhere else in the north is none of my concern._ He thought such things a hundred times a day or more, and still he wondered how many times he must think them before they would no longer feel like lies. It had been nearly seven months since he’d last seen Winterfell, and the faces of the children who were no longer his still appeared vividly before him every time he closed his eyes. The woman who was not his wife haunted both his dreams and his waking moments. The image of her sleeping as he last saw her often led to visions of him pulling the furs that covered her down to reveal her naked body instead of walking away from her, and then his mind would become so full of the look, and scent, and feel of her that he was compelled to seek out the privacy of one of the abandoned rooms in the castle to deal with his unbearable need of her, alone and in shame.

He had reached the Lord Commander’s door finally, limping badly in the cold, and he rapped at it only to actually cry out in surprise to have it opened by his son _Not my son. I have no sons._

“Jon!” he exclaimed. “When did you return?”

Jon looked down at his feet. “Only in the past hour. I have come from Eastwatch.”

“Eastwatch-by-the-Sea? Where are the men you were to bring? I’ve seen no new faces, heard of no new arrivals.”

Jon still did not look at him.

“Stark, get in here and close the door before you freeze us all to death,” came Jeor Mormont’s voice from somewhere behind Jon.

Jon moved aside to allow Ned to enter and closed the door behind him, and Ned saw Mormont standing beside well-burning fire. “You sent for me, my lord?”

“I did,” the Old Bear growled, “But to answer your question, young Snow here left his charges at Eastwatch. Cotter Pyke has need of them. I received a raven from him and sent word to Karhold that Jon should take all his new recruits there before returning here.”

Jon remained silent, barely moving from just inside the door. Ned had spent surprisingly little time with the boy in all his months at the Wall, as Jon was Mormont’s steward and Ned was frequently sent on rangings beyond the Wall, but he certainly knew him well enough to know that his silence was more than just his usual taciturn demeanor. Something bothered him.

“Well, as these new men are likely all northmen, whatever else they may be, I’d say Cotter likely got the better lot of fresh recruits,” Ned said then. “That bunch from Horn Hill is still good for little except trying Endrew Tarth’s patience.”

Mormont sighed heavily. “Even if every recruit on the Wall was trained and ready to fight today, we still would not have enough men. Sit down, Ned.”

Ned raised a brow. The man didn’t often use his first name. He took a chair, and Mormont sat as well. Jon busied himself pouring the two men drinks.

“We cannot ignore the dead men any longer,” Mormont stated flatly.

Ned knew what dead men he spoke of. The first had been the dead rangers who rose with terrible blue eyes and attempted to attack the Lord Commander in his quarters. Jon and his direwolf had stopped that attack not long before he’d been sent to Karhold, and the boy had burns on his hand as a reminder of it. Since that time, they had encountered a few others north of the Wall on rangings. Ned, himself, had destroyed one with a burning branch not a fortnight before.

“The wildlings are gone, and we don’t know where. These dead men walk, and we don’t know why. We shall have a ranging, Ned.”

“We’ve had countless rangings,” Ned replied. “We haven’t found answers yet.”

“No,” the Lord Commander said. “We haven’t. And we haven’t the men to withstand a full-scale attack on the Wall if Mance Rayder truly is organizing large numbers of wildlings. So I intend to lead a ranging myself. We shall ride out in force. Two hundred men at least. And we’ll take ravens. I shall not have us disappear the way your brother did with no word to tell of it. We shall find Mance Rayder, and we shall find our answers. Or die trying.”

Mormont’s face was set. It was clear the man had made up his mind. He hadn’t called Ned here to ask his opinion. He’d simply called him in to inform him of the plan before informing the Watch at large. “When?” he asked.

“As soon as we can make ready. Winter is coming, as you Starks are wont to say, and I’d say it’s coming pretty quickly. It’s time we got on with this. I’m sending to Qhorin Halfhand at Shadow Tower to set out with another hundred men or so and meet us.”

“This will be the largest ranging in some time,” Ned said thoughtfully.

“In a very long time,” Mormont agreed. “You’ll want to prepare your rangers. Decide who you think are the best of them to go.”

Ned nodded. This would be a dangerous business. Not all of them would return. He wondered if word would be sent to Winterfell if he were killed on this ranging. Would they send word to Cat? _She is not my wife. My death is nothing to her now._ That wasn’t true, though. Catelyn would mourn him. He remembered the way she had looked at him, how hungrily she had reached for him, that last night at Winterfell. He swallowed hard and forced his mind back to Jeor Mormont’s voice.

“Jon, do you think the Tarly boy is up to it? Maester Aemon cannot possibly come, and I’ll need someone to handle the ravens,” Mormont was saying now.

Jon nodded. “Sam can do it. I’ll go see him now if you like.”

Mormont nodded, and Jon almost ran out the door. Something definitely bothered the boy.

“If you have nothing further, my lord?” Ned asked Mormont. The Old Bear shook his head, and Ned took leave of him, stepping back out into the cold. He caught sight of Jon walking away in search of the Tarly boy, and he called after him. Jon stopped and slowly turned around, waiting for Ned to walk up beside him.

“Welcome back, Jon,” he said as he approached him. “It is good to see you again.”

“And you, Father,” Jon replied.

No one was around, so Ned didn’t correct him as he normally did. There were no fathers and sons on the Wall. Only brothers. Right now, though, Ned welcomed Jon’s use of the word, especially as he knew he might never hear it again.

“Jon,” he said seriously. “I would have you walk with me for a bit. I need to speak with you.”

“I have to talk to Sam.”

“That can wait,” Ned said, using the same tone of voice which had stopped any of his children _I have no children_ in their tracks at Winterfell. “We must speak, Jon. There are things you must know.”

Jon’s eyes grew round at that, and he nodded. “Follow me, then,” he said, leading Ned down into the tunnels beneath Castle Black where they were well out of the cold wind and could find a deserted place easily enough. When they came to a small storeroom filled with casks, Jon stopped and turned toward him. “We can speak here,” he said. “It’s been inventoried recently, and no one has reason to come in.”

Ned nodded. “Sit down, Jon,” he said, and took a seat on one of the casks, himself. “You have often asked about your mother, and I would not die without your having the answers you wish.”

“You aren’t going to die,” Jon said.

Ned smiled. “I would hope you are correct, but it may not be my choice or yours.” He paused. “Jon, if I should fall in this ranging, I would ask that word be sent to Catelyn and the children at Winterfell. Could you see to that for me?”

A definite shadow passed the boy’s face at that. “If I survive and you do not, I shall send word to Winterfell,” he said after a moment.

That gave Ned pause. “If you survive? Jon, you aren’t a ranger. Surely, you aren’t . . .”

“I am going as Lord Mormont’s squire. He’s already told me,” Jon interrupted.

Ned looked at the boy, for he was a boy in spite of the dark brown whiskers that now colored his chin. He thought of the bright whiskers he had seen on Robb’s face at Winterfell, and was struck by a pang of fear for both of these boys who could not be his sons--the boy who had been his son was nothing to him now, and the boy he had made his son and been remade his brother. _Both sons,_ his mind insisted.

He must have been silent for a long time because Jon asked then, “So are you going to tell me? About my mother?”

Ned sighed. “To tell you of your mother, I must tell you of your father as well, Jon, and that is hard to do. I have long been your father, and I still feel myself your father whatever this black garb we wear says of it.”

“Of course, Father. Just as I shall always feel myself your son,” Jon said without hesitation.

Ned took a deep breath. “But I was not always your father, Jon.” He held up a hand to still the boy’s protest. “You are my blood, as I have told you many times, but you are my blood through your mother . . .my sister, Lyanna.” He had said it. He had said the words out loud, and he could not take them back now. He felt strangely empty as he looked at Jon’s face staring at him in disbelief and confusion.

“But how can that be?” Jon said quietly. “How can Lyanna be my mother if you are . . .”

“Because I am not your father,” Ned said. Those words hurt far more than the ones he’d said previously. They hurt Jon as well.

“That’s a lie!” he yelled. “Look at me! I am your son!”

Ned shook his head. “You are the son of Lyanna Stark and Rhaegar Targaryen.”

Now Jon looked horrified. “No,” he said. “That’s a lie. Something you made up for some reason. Why, Father? Why would you lie?” His voice was pleading and sounded younger than it had since Ned had come to the Wall.

“I do not lie now. I lied then to protect you, Jon. Whatever else Rhaegar Targaryen may have been, he was no rapist. My sister went with him because she wanted to, and even married the man in spite of his already having a wife.” Ned shook his head sadly, still half unable to believe what Lyanna had done even after all these years. Jon now stared silently at him, as if unable to speak. “Rhaegar was killed on the Trident, and Lyanna died not long after you were born. I was there when she died, and she made me promise to keep you safe. So I did the only thing I could. I made you mine. Robert would have killed you simply for being Rhaegar’s, Jon, and I could not allow that.”

Jon was silent then for what seemed a very long time to Ned. Then he whispered, “No.” He shook his head stubbornly, and repeated it more loudly. “No, no. This is the lie. You are lying now because you had to come here.”

“No, Jon,” Ned said. “I am telling . . .”

“You are lying because you feel guilty over it. You’ve always felt guilty about me, about betraying your wife with my mother. She could never forgive you so always felt guilty.” Jon’s voice got louder and faster as spoke. “And now you feel guilty for leaving her alone. Don’t you?”

Ned stared at him, unsure how to respond to Jon’s accusation.

“Don’t you?” he demanded. “You feel guilty about being at the Wall!”

“Well, yes,” Ned stammered, “but that has nothing to . . .”

Jon started laughing then, and the sound frightened Ned. “Well, you shouldn’t,” Jon said. “Because she isn’t even at Winterfell. Your former lady wife is the one who should feel guilty. Commander Mormont didn’t want you to know. Didn’t want you distracted, he said.”

 _Oh, gods! Has something happened to Catelyn?_ “Jon, what are you talking about?” he asked, and he heard the pleading note in his own voice so similar to what he’d heard in Jon’s earlier. “Please, tell me.”

Jon looked at him then, and Ned saw indecision in those grey eyes so like his own. Jon was hurt and angry and didn’t want to believe what Ned had told him, and now he seemed to be torn between the desire to lash out in return and the fear of saying something that would truly hurt Ned. “Please, Jon,” Ned begged, afraid of whatever secret Jon was hiding, but desperate to hear it all the same.

There were tears in Jon’s eyes now. “Lady Stark got married,” he spit out. “To the Greatjon. She’s at Last Hearth with him, and she carries his child.”

The world shifted somehow, in the space of an instant, and Ned didn’t feel quite balanced or whole. “Catelyn,” he whispered.

Jon nodded. “Lord Karstark went to the wedding at Winterfell. All the men from the Karhold knew about it. That’s why Lord Mormont didn’t want them here. Not now.” He paused, and Ned was aware of nothing but his own heart pounding in his ears against the silence. “Am I really Lyanna and Rhaegar’s son?” Jon asked in a small voice.

Ned nodded, not trusting his own voice at the moment. He needed to explain more to Jon. He needed to comfort him, somehow, to tell him why it had to be this way. How he would always be a son to him, whoever had fathered him. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t speak. _Cat is another man’s wife?_

Jon stood up then. “I have to go talk to Sam,” he said softly, and walked toward the door. Ned sat on his own cask, unmoving. When Jon got to the doorway of the storeroom, he turned back. “If I’m not even your son, why did she hate me so much? Lady Stark?”

Ned shook his head slowly. “She doesn’t know,” he whispered. _And now it doesn’t matter._

“She doesn’t know?” Jon sounded shocked. “Does anyone know?”

“Howland Reed,” Ned croaked, his voice still not quite working. “Myself, and now you.” He forced a great breath into his lungs and looked at the boy he still considered his son. _I have no sons or daughters._ “I will tell no one else if that is your wish, Jon, or I will tell anyone you would have know.”

“I don’t know what I want,” Jon said. “I have to talk to Sam.”

He started to walk out, and Ned called after him. “I am sorry, Jon.”

Jon turned back once more, and nodded slightly. “I’m sorry, too.” Then he turned and left Ned alone in the storeroom.

 _Catelyn is another man’s wife. She carries another man’s child._ Ned had known Jon Umber his entire life, and had always considered the man a friend. Now he was filled with a burning desire to ride to Last Hearth and tear the man from limb to limb. He pictured Umber lowering his enormous body over Catelyn’s small form, imagined her fiery hair tangled around the man’s huge hands and heard her crying out in pleasure at his touch.

He realized then that he was crying out, shouting with wordless rage, and he stood up and walked to the wall of the storeroom pounding his fists into it until his knuckles bled. _You all but told her to wed again,_ he thought furiously. _You gave her your_ _blessing._ He sank to his knees and rested his forehead against the cold wall.

 _She carries his child._ That couldn’t be. All of his children were Cat’s. All of Cat’s children were his. _I have no children. I have no_ _wife. I have no wife. I have no wife._ And yet, she was there. He could feel the tickle of her hair across his face, the taste of her lips against his tongue, and the heat of her skin as she pressed her body against his. “Cat!” he cried out, and he discovered his cock was hard and in his hand. He moved his hand up and down the length of it with frenzied desperation, and cried out her name again as he spilled himself over his fingers onto the earthen floor of the storeroom.

He knelt there, shoulders shaking, with his head against the wall for a long time. Only slowly did he become aware that he was crying. It was an odd thing to realize, as he could not recall the last time he’d cried. Starks were cold, it was said, and their tears froze before they could fall. Yet, he felt the tears on his face now. _I have no children. I have no wife._ Ned knew then that these words would never stop feeling like lies, even when he’d thought them a hundred million times. In that dark room beneath a massive wall of ice, the former Lord of Winterfell wept bitterly for the love of another man’s wife, knowing he could never think of her as anything other than his own.


	3. Catelyn

Catelyn Stark was cold, but then she hadn’t been truly warm since she’d left Winterfell almost eight moons past. Last Hearth was a well built keep with strong, thick walls, and the fires were kept well tended, but no amount of warmth ever seemed to drive the chill from her bones. Not even the ever growing babe within her belly warmed her, although she remembered well how hot she’d gotten at night with her previous pregnancies, and Ned’s amused grey eyes as he’d teased her about tossing off the bedcovers even more quickly than he did.

“It’s the little wolf pup within you that relishes the cold, my lady,” he’d tell her with a smile. “Your Tully blood around him is all the warmth he needs at night. No other wrapping is required.” Then he’d take her in his arms and they’d lie naked together, wrapped only in each other as they slept. Silent tears escaped her eyes now as she rubbed her hand gently over this new wolf pup in her belly and wondered if his father was as cold as she was. _Starks are made for the cold,_ she thought. _But I do not bear_ _it well without him._ After all this time, the pain of his absence could strike her as sharply as it had the day she’d heard of his arrest.

“Lady Umber, you are out of bed!”

The title jarred her ears painfully while her mind was full of Ned, and she took a moment to dry her tears and compose herself before turning around to face her maid. “Yes, Marta,” she said. “I have had no pains for two days, and I would very much like to be on my feet to meet my son and daughter when they arrive.”

The older woman nodded in understanding. “I know, my lady,” she said. “It’s just that his lordship worries after you so, after what happened with the first Lady Umber and all.” Marta looked stricken then, as if she realized she should not speak of such things. With her iron grey hair and deeply lined face, Marta had to be close to sixty. She had been in service at Last Hearth since before the Greatjon’s birth, and Catelyn knew she had attended his son’s birth as well, witnessing the Smalljon’s bloody entry into this world which had cost his own mother her life.

“Do not trouble yourself, Marta,” Catelyn reassured her. “I know well enough what my lord husband fears. I believe he would just as soon the babe come now as grow for another moon out of fear for me. Yet I would have the babe more fully grown if I could.”

Marta made a harrumphing sound as she stared at Catelyn’s belly. “I’d say that little one’s well grown enough as it is, Lady Umber. Perhaps you should remain out of bed and encourage the pains to come again, even if it is a wee bit early. Umbers are strong. I’ll wager that one can take care of himself.”

 _Starks are strong, too,_ Catelyn thought. _But I shall take care of this one all the same._ She only smiled, though, and said, “Well, I do believe this one is as large as my other babes were when they were ready for the world, and as little Rickon did arrive nearly a fortnight before he was expected, I fear this one may come early as well, whether I will it or not.”

Marta smiled at the mention of Rickon. The old woman doted on him and allowed him to get away with all sorts of mischief when his mother took to her bed _. Yes,_ Catelyn thought, _It is past time to get out of bed. Gods only know what the child has gotten into now._

“Let Lord Umber know I shall join him at dinner tonight, will you please, Marta? And while I don’t expect the party from Winterfell before the morrow, you will send for me the moment they arrive, whatever time that may be, won’t you?”

“Of course, my lady,” Marta said, turning to leave the chamber.

Catelyn sighed. The babe gave her a hard kick. He or she had grown large enough that the poor thing had little room to move now, so the kicks were less frequent but more powerful, and she knew the babe would come within days. She had worried about giving birth less than nine moons after her hastily arranged marriage, but Smalljon Umber had surprisingly given her the seeds of a plan to address that concern.

She and Jon had not originally intended to tell anyone at Last Hearth the truth of matters, not even his son, although she could see from the beginning how lying to the young man pained her putative new husband. When they had first arrived at Last Hearth, Jon had come to her chamber at least once a week, staying long enough to keep up the appearance of performing his marital duties before retiring to his own chambers to sleep. Once they had announced that she was with child to the general joy and excitement of everyone at Last Hearth, (and Catelyn felt deeply guilty about leading all the good people here to believe they would soon welcome a new Umber into the world), he had stopped coming altogether. He still treated her with every courtesy and kindness, in his own rough way, but as it was not uncommon for a man to fear that lying with a woman who was with child carried some sort of risk, they could now avoid those uncomfortable nights without much comment.

The Smalljon, however, had objected strongly when he discovered that his father had again begun visiting the chamber of a kitchen girl named Tiva. Apparently, the Greatjon had first started a discreet dalliance with the young woman two years before. It bothered Catelyn not at all, of course. The man had been without a wife for close to twenty years. She would not begrudge him what comfort he could find with the girl, as the girl certainly seemed willing enough. She was a fairly plain young woman, with ample breasts and a warm, easy smile. Whether she was aware of Catelyn’s knowledge of her relationship with Jon or not, she always treated Catelyn with deference and respect that seemed genuine enough, and so Catelyn was content to feign ignorance.

Smalljon Umber was not. After one particularly loud argument between the two men, Catelyn had finally cornered the Greatjon and asked him what it was about. After much stammering and embarrassment on his part, Catelyn had finally discerned the problem, assured Lord Umber she had no objection to his liaison with Tiva, and insisted they tell Smalljon the truth about their marriage.

The young man had been shocked, to say the least, and angry at first that they hadn’t taken him into their confidence immediately. When his eyes had lingered on her growing belly, Catelyn realized they’d taken a brother or sister from him, and she’d felt terrible. Rickon idolized Smalljon Umber, and he had taken her small son under his wing as brother with all the enthusiasm she could have asked of him. How cruel it must be to know that this new child would not be his sibling after all.

However, the Smalljon truly was the loyal and big hearted son of the father he was named for, and soon swore himself to restoring Lord Stark to Winterfell and Catelyn and her child to their rightful name and place. He shared with Catelyn the sad story of his own birth. He had been much larger than a typical newborn, which hardly seemed surprising, given the size of his father and himself now, but his mother had been a small, fine-boned woman whose body simply could not survive the delivery of such a large infant. She had apparently demanded that everything be done to bring her child into the world rather than allowing anyone to risk the infant to protect her own life. Catelyn understood the woman’s wishes quite well. After her death, the Greatjon apparently felt marriage and subsequent children too great a risk and so had remained a widower all these years.

At first, Catelyn was unsure why the young man had shared this obviously painful story with her, and she asked him about it. His cheeks had turned crimson when he’d said, “Forgive me, Lady Catelyn, but I know when Lord Stark visited Winterfell. Your child will be born too soon.”

Her own cheeks had colored then, but Smalljon had continued. “No one here thinks anything of the size of your babe now because they all know my story. If this babe is the size of most when he comes, they should easily enough believe him a babe come early rather than a babe conceived too soon.”

So the plan had been made. Catelyn started feigning labor pains which was not difficult at all as she knew the feel of them well enough, and took to her bed on several occasions with a great show of distress that the babe would come too soon. Of course, everyone in Last Hearth now treated her as if she were made of porcelain, but that was a small price to pay.

She lived for letters from Winterfell. Robb sent them faithfully. He could say little, of course, but always managed to convey that he and others labored diligently toward their ultimate goal. Sansa often added messages in her precise, lovely script, and even Bran had scribbled a few words here and there. From Arya, there was nothing, and Robb only ever said of her that she was “well enough.” Catelyn’s heart ached for her children as it ached for her husband, and while the letters were her greatest joy, they also were a source of almost unbearable pain. She wondered if Robb had any way of contacting Ned, for she certainly did not. She knew no letters were allowed to reach him, and yet in some of her darkest moments, she still longed to send a raven winging to the Wall with words of love and longing for him. Only the knowledge that such words could doom them all stayed her hand.

Letters. She had read about her son’s wedding to Roslin Frey in a letter, rather than watching him place the direwolf cloak on the girl’s shoulders--the same cloak Ned had once placed on hers. She’d wept bitterly after receiving that one, and Jon, bless him, had simply sat with her in silence, realizing there was no comfort to be had. She had read of her father’s death in another letter and more tears had fallen. She should have been with him instead of in some frozen northern keep. At least Uncle Brynden had stayed with Edmure when she had returned to Winterfell with Robb and the girls, so her brother was not entirely alone. Her sister had not come down from the Eyrie; nor had she answered any of Catelyn’s letters, and Catelyn worried about Lysa.

Then Robb had written that Mace Tyrell had sent a raven to Winterfell proposing a possible match between Sansa and his eldest son, Willas, who was the heir to Highgarden. The man wanted Robb to send Sansa south to the Reach so that Willas might meet her. Catelyn did not trust the Tyrells. They had fought alongside the dragons during Robert’s Rebellion, and Ned had been forced to fight them to break their siege of Storm’s End. In the current troubles, they’d allied first with Renly Baratheon, wedding their daughter Margaery to the man, but since his mysterious death, they apparently courted the lions, offering up the newly widowed Margaery as a bride for Joffrey. What did they want with Sansa?

No, Catelyn did not trust the Tyrells, and she would not send her daughter south again into the hands of strangers. Yet, she had to admit that an alliance with the Tyrells could certainly be advantageous. She had written Robb back that he should respond to Lord Tyrell with interest, but suggest that he send his son north to court Sansa at Winterfell. After all, the road was no longer going north than it was going south, and bad leg or no, Willas Tyrell was a man grown of more than twenty years while Sansa was a young maiden recently flowered who had seen more than her share of suffering. Any man with her best interests at heart could not object to traveling to her home, no matter the distance.

In truth, she had been surprised when Robb had written her back to say the Tyrells had agreed. To her everlasting joy, however, he had also written that the time required for the Tyrell party to travel from Highgarden to Winterfell would allow ample time for him to escort Sansa to Last Hearth to visit with her mother.

Since that letter had arrived, Catelyn had longed for the arrival of her children themselves with anticipation so great it was painful. She knew Robb would not bring Bran. Travel was not easy for him since his injury, and if Robb were leaving Winterfell, he would want Bran to remain there anyway. Young as he was, he was a Stark. She wondered what Robb had to tell her, for she knew that he had any number of men he could entrust with escorting Sansa here. Obviously he needed to ask or tell her something not safe to trust to a raven or a messenger. She hoped, in spite of herself, that Arya might come, but she knew that would not be the case.

Now, as Catelyn brushed and braided her hair, Marta returned to help her dress for dinner. She was grateful for the assistance as bending over to lace her boots had become quite a trial. The old woman looked at her critically. “You are very lovely, Lady Umber, but still too thin for a woman carrying a babe in spite of the size of your middle.”

“I am fine, Marta,” she replied. “I never gained a tremendous amount with my babes.” She laughed then. “Perhaps the size of this one only makes the rest of me appear thinner by comparison.”

The old woman smiled sadly at her then. “No, my lady. It’s grief that makes you thin. Grief for the children you left at Winterfell.” She looked at Catelyn thoughtfully. “Grief for your man on the Wall, I think, as well.”

Stunned by the woman’s words, Catelyn had no opportunity to guard her face, and she knew that Marta could see the truth there.

“Lord Umber is a good man, my lady,” the old woman told her softly, “But you cannot command your heart to go where it will not. You give him respect, and you soon will give him a child. That is enough. Perhaps the child will bring you enough happiness to bring you out of your grief.”

 _Oh, Marta,_ Catelyn thought. _If only you knew._ She wondered if everyone here could read her as easily as Marta did and hoped not. At least, Marta did not appear to suspect all of the truth.

A soft knock on the door of her chamber called her mind away from her musings. “My lady?” came Jon’s voice.

She smiled. “Come in, my lord,” she said.

As the big man entered, he smiled at her with genuine warmth. “You look to be feeling much better, my lady. Are you sure you are up to coming to the dining hall, however? I don’t want you overdoing it.”

She smiled. “I’m with child, Jon,” she said. “Not sickly. And as Marta and I discussed earlier, I fear this little one may not wish to stay put much longer, however much I lie in bed.” She bit her lip, as if thinking. “Rickon came only a week or two past where this babe is now, and he was as healthy as a wolf.” She saw Jon’s eyebrows raise slightly and realized she should probably used any other word but wolf in this little performance for Marta’s benefit. “And his little brother or sister is already much bigger than Rickon was at his birth, I swear it,” she added quickly.

Jon came to her and laid his large hands on her belly which felt very strange and yet comforting at the same time. “And I have no doubt that this one will be as strong as any giant,” he said with a smile at her. “But I do worry for you, Catelyn.”

Her given name came more easily to him now, although he only used it in fairly private moments like this one. “I know you do,” she said, “but I am well, Jon. Truly.” She looked him in the eyes and tried to silently offer him her gratitude for his friendship and protection as well as reassurance that she was, indeed, all right.

“Then, allow me to escort you to dinner, my lady,” he told her, and he offered her his arm.

Dinner was pleasant enough. Rickon came in with the Smalljon and was ecstatic to see her out of bed. He hurtled himself at her with such force that several people looked shocked and concerned, but she merely threw her arms around him and said, “How is my wild wolf pup today?”

“Good!” he shouted. “Smalljon let me shoot arrows!”

“Oh, he did, did he?” she responded, raising a brow at the tall young man.

“Of course, I did,” he said with a shrug. “He didn’t do too badly . . .for a puppy!” he grinned, tweaking Rickon’s nose.

“I’m not a puppy, I’m a direwolf!” Rickon shouted back. “Like Shaggy!”

“Yes, well, direwolf or no, you shall not shout any more at the dinner table,” Catelyn told him severely, although the laughter in her eyes took any sting from her words. Rickon unceremoniously shoved the Smalljon out of the seat to Catelyn’s right so he could sit beside his mother, and the young man graciously allowed himself to be shoved, moving one place down to Rickon’s right. Sitting to Catelyn’s left, in the hall’s high seat, Jon smiled at the three of them and then banged loudly on the table, indicating the food should be served.

“Speaking of Shaggy, where is he?” Catelyn asked. She saw any number of dogs running around and lying beneath the tables in the hall, but the big black direwolf was nowhere to be seen.

“The stupid dogs are all scared of him,” Rickon said with a slight pout. “So he can’t come in til everybody finishes. I save him lots of good bits, though.”

“I’m afraid he’s right,” Jon said ruefully. “The dogs make a terrible fuss if he’s in here with them, and it’s a lot easier to keep Shaggydog out until after dinner is served than to order every man here to keep his dog out.”

Catelyn nodded. “He still sleeps in Rickon’s room, though, doesn’t he?”

“Of course, my lady,” he replied. “I know you would have it no other way.”

She nodded gratefully. She never wanted her children without their wolves. Bran’s wolf had taught her that well enough. _Who will guard you, little one?_    she thought suddenly with her hand on her belly.

“Will the baby get a wolf pup?” Rickon asked then, echoing her thoughts in his childish voice.

“Wolves are for Starks,” roared Jon’s uncle Mors, seated on the other side of Jon. “This babe’s an Umber, boy, and Umbers have no need of guard dogs!”

Most of the men who heard him roared with laughter, but Rickon’s blue eyes darkened like a sky about to storm. “Well I see LOTS of dogs here with you Umbers,” he shouted, “And every one of them is afraid of a wolf!”

“Rickon!” Catelyn cried, but both the Greatjon and Smalljon laughed loudly at the little boy’s outburst and the Smalljon stood and raised his tankard high. “Hear, hear!” he shouted. “Raise a glass to our little direwolf! If our Lord Robb has half the courage of his little brother, House Stark should stand against any and all foes!”

“Hear, hear!” and “Rickon!” and “Stark” were all shouted through the hall as men banged tankards on the table, and Rickon positively glowed at the Smalljon’s praise, his anger at Mors Umber forgotten. Soon however, the little boy had eaten his fill, and his eyelids looked heavy.

Catelyn had eaten little, but then she rarely had much appetite. Now, she wanted only to take her son to bed and retire herself. She looked toward Jon, but he was in deep conversation with both of his uncles. Had it been Ned, she would have laid a hand on his shoulder and merely looked toward the sleepy little boy, and he would have excused himself to carry their son to his room. But Jon was not Ned, and Rickon was not his son.

Sighing, Catelyn stood up and prodded Rickon in his seat. “Come, sweetling. It is late, and I cannot carry you.”

“I can carry him easily enough.” The Smalljon hoisted Rickon into his arms and Catelyn watched her son put his arms around the big young man’s neck and rest his head contentedly on his shoulder. _He doesn’t even remember being carried so by his father,_   she thought sadly.

“Thank you,” she said to the Smalljon, and she followed him to Rickon’s room. After tucking Rickon into bed with a kiss and a song, she stood to go to her own room and felt a sharp pain seize her lower back and belly. She grabbed at the wall to steady herself and only the desire to keep from waking her son kept her from crying out. She stood there, holding the wall and breathing deeply until the pain released her from its grip and she walked out of Rickon’s room.

She knew well enough what that pain was. It wasn’t something easily forgotten. When she got to her own chamber, she sat down and waited for it to come again. It took awhile, but when it hit, it took her breath away again. She sat there doubled over when Marta entered her room.

“Lady Umber,” she cried, when she saw her.

“I am fine,” Catelyn said between gritted teeth. “But this babe will come by tomorrow, I think.”

Marta’s eyes widened. “Shall I fetch the maester, my lady?”

Catelyn devoutly wished Maester Luwin were there. He had delivered all of her children save Robb, and she trusted him. The maester at Last Hearth seemed competent enough, but he was little more than a stranger to her. She shook her head. “There will be little enough for him to do for some time yet,” she said more easily as the pain released her once more. “Until the pains come more closely, there is little to do but wait.”

“Shall I get Lord Umber, then?” she asked.

 _Ned. I want Ned._ She shook her head. “He can do nothing but worry. Let him start his worry later.”

“I shall sit with you then, my lady,” Marta said firmly.

“Thank you,” Catelyn told her quietly, and she allowed the older woman to take her hand.

By the time the sun rose the next morning, everyone in Last Hearth knew that Lady Umber was in childbed. When the pains had become more regular she had sent Marta for Jon and the maester. Jon had arrived first, and in those few moments when they were alone in her chamber, he had gripped her hands tightly. “Be strong, Catelyn,” he told her. “Be strong for your lord and his babe.”

She had nodded mutely as another pain hit her, and she’d watched his face go pale. “I will be fine,” she panted. “You go.”

He did not move or let of her hand, however, until Marta returned with the maester. Then he allowed himself to be ushered out of the room, and Catelyn remembered her shock during Sansa’s birth when Ned had steadfastly refused to leave her bedside at anyone’s urging. At first, she had been disconcerted. Her feelings for him had still been so new then. She feared looking weak to him or disappointing him somehow. Yet, as he had held her tightly through the worst of the pains and allowed her to dig her nails into his arms without complaint, she’d forgotten to feel anything but immense gratitude for his presence, and when she’d seen him take Sansa from Maester Luwin’s hands and look at her while she was still red and squalling and covered in blood as if he had never beheld anything quite so miraculous, she had known for the first time how deeply she had come to love her husband. _I need you, Ned,_ she thought as she watched Jon walk from her chamber.

The next few hours were a blur, as the pains seemed to come one on top of another, ever more powerful, and she stopped being concerned with keeping quiet. Now she cried out when she hurt, and silently implored the maester to tell her it was time to push. Yet he said nothing. Marta sat at her side and wiped her brow with a damp rag, and two other girls moved about the room with water and cloths and whatever else the maester asked for, but he only sat there at the foot of the bed, so still at times that Catelyn wondered if he still breathed.

Some time before midday, she heard a horn sound from somewhere outside. _Robb,_ she thought. _Sansa._ She couldn’t go meet them after all. That made her very sad, and it also made her think of Rickon. She wondered what he had been told and hoped he was somewhere that he couldn’t hear her cries. “How much longer?” she croaked at the silent maester who was not Luwin then. She wanted this child in her arms. She wanted her other children with her. She wanted Ned.

The man shook his head. “I am not certain, my lady,” he said. “Your pains are strong and your womb is opening well, but the babe has not moved down quite yet. Until it does, you cannot hope to push it forth.”

Catelyn started to ask him just what she could hope for, but the pain took her words, and she heard herself cry out. On the heels of her cry, she heard a young woman’s voice call out, “Mother!”

_Sansa?_

Catelyn held her breath as the pain continued to engulf her, but just outside the door, she heard, “I will too enter. I am a woman grown, and she is my mother, and you cannot keep me out!” She almost laughed as the voice sounded much too young to be any ‘woman grown,’ but when the door opened and she saw her daughter’s beautiful face, she could have wept for joy.

“Sansa, sweetling,” she panted. “You needn’t be here.”

“Oh, Mother!” Sansa cried. “Where else should I be?” She looked pale and certainly young, but Catelyn realized that her daughter did not look like a child at all in this moment as she bent to kiss her mother’s damp forehead.

Catelyn raised one arm and put it around Sansa as her daughter bent over her. “I am very glad to see you, sweetling,” she whispered. “I have missed you.”

“And I have missed you, Mother, so very, very much!” Sansa kissed her again quickly and then moved to sit behind her at the head of the bed, allowing Catelyn to rest her head against her, and reaching around her to hold her hands. “Let’s see if my new brother or sister is as anxious to see me as you were,” she said brightly, and Catelyn knew she was the only person in the room who could detect the slight tremor of fear in her daughter’s voice.

After a few more pains that Catelyn felt might tear her in two, the infuriatingly silent maester at the foot of her bed finally said, “Now, Lady Umber. Push.” And Catelyn pushed for all she was worth. She was exhausted and in pain and emotionally drained, but she pushed. Finally, she heard Sansa’s elated exclamation, and she felt the babe slide from her body into the maester’s hands.

“A boy!” the man said. “A fine son, Lady Umber.”

Catelyn cried and laughed and shook as she heard her son cry for the first time. The maester held him up then for her to see, and she heard Sansa draw in a sharp breath behind her. The dark haired baby boy had stopped crying now, and he blinked at her in the bright sunlight coming through the window with Ned’s grey eyes.

“Mother,” she heard Sansa whisper.

The maester had tied and cut the navel cord. “Give me my son,” Catelyn said, and the man handed him up to her. Her arms still shook slightly, and Sansa helped her bring the child to her breast. Neither of them spoke. They just watched the little boy nuzzle at her until he finally latched onto her nipple and began to suckle.

Catelyn was vaguely aware that the afterbirth had also been expelled from her body by this point. The maester actually smiled at her then. “You did well, Lady Umber. I can leave you to rest with the babe now. Shall I send for Lord Umber?”

Catelyn nodded. “Please,” she said. “Send me Jon. You may all go. My daughter will stay with me.”

When the others had left the room, Sansa ran one hand lightly over the baby’s dark hair. “He looks just like Arya,” she said incredulously.

“He looks just like his father,” Catelyn replied, and Sansa searched her mother’s face, her blue eyes wide with shock and fear.

“Jon knows,” she said softly. “It’s why he married me. When your father came to Winterfell from the Wall, we . . .”

Understanding dawned on Sansa’s face. She was young, but she was no longer a child.

“Oh, Mother,” she said softly. She looked at her new little brother closely. “Do they not see?” she asked.

Catelyn shook her head. “Jon has dark hair. The babe has dark hair. They see what they expect to see, child.”

“Does . . .does Robb know?”

“Yes, sweetling. He’s known from the beginning. He helped me do this.”

She could see Sansa trying to make sense of it all. “But . . .how could you, Mother? How could you wed Lord Umber, especially if . . .”

“I am wed to no man but your father, Sansa,” Catelyn said quietly, tears shining in her eyes. “Not in truth.” She heard Jon’s heavy footsteps outside the door. “Talk to Robb about it. He can tell you all of it. But be careful not to speak a word where anyone may hear.”

Sansa nodded just as Jon Umber knocked at her door.

“Come in,” Catelyn called.

“My lady,” he said, as he entered. “Are you well?”

She smiled at him. “A son, my lord.” She pulled the babe off her breast and held him up for Jon to look at. He averted his eyes at the sight of her bare breast, and she quickly covered herself. “He’s a healthy boy, Jon,” she said. “Would you like to hold him?”

He reached for the baby and held him up in those huge hands with surprising tenderness. He shook his head slowly as he gazed at the tiny face. “Gods, Catelyn!” he exclaimed. “He looks just . . .”

“I know,” she interrupted him. The three of them were alone in the room, but the Greatjon’s booming voice carried, and she knew not who might be in the hall. “He looks just perfect, doesn’t he?”

This man who had married her for her own protection smiled at her then. “He does indeed, my lady.” He carried the baby to the doorway then and opened it wide. “I have a son!” he announced in a booming voice, and Catelyn heard shouts and cheers ring through the corridor. “My Lady Catelyn has given me a fine son!”

His words were meant to protect her, to protect her son, to protect all of them, and yet her heart ached to hear them. _He is Ned’s son. Oh, Ned. Will you know you have a new son?_ She heard people moving in the corridor, coming up to clap the Greatjon on the back and stare at her son. Suddenly she couldn’t stand her baby, _Ned’s baby,_ being away from her arms, being thrust amongst these people he did not belong to.

“Jon!” she called, hoping she kept the desperation out of her voice. “I need to feed your son, my lord,” _Ned’s son._

He turned then and saw her face. He immediately turned back to those gathering in the corridor. “Away with all of you now! Go and drink to my son! I would have some time with my lady wife and our new babe!” He laughed gleefully and shut the door in their faces.

Catelyn reached for her son and he gave the babe to her. She held him against her as if she would never let him go. “Sansa,” she said then. “Go and find your brothers, and the Smalljon. They should all come meet their new brother.”

“But . . .”

“Sansa,” Catelyn said almost sharply. “This is important. Robb, Rickon, and Smalljon are all brothers to this babe. Go and find them all.”

Sansa nodded, and Catelyn grabbed her hand. “And in a moment of quiet, my sweetling,” she said more softly, “Speak with Robb. The Smalljon knows all as well, but you must guard what you say at all times.” Sansa nodded once more. “You were very brave today, Sansa. I don’t know if I could have done this without you.”

Now her daughter smiled widely and hugged her tightly before going to do as she asked.

When she had gone, the Greatjon asked. “Shall I go, too? I mean, if you're going to feed him . . .”

“Jon,” she sighed, “You had better get used to the sight. I shall have to feed him often, and I am your wife and this is your child, remember?”

He nodded. Then he grinned at her. “I suppose we can’t call him Eddard, even if that’s the first name that came to mind when I looked at him.”

“Certainly not,” she said. “We don’t need anything to connect him to the name Stark, especially with that face.” She smiled down at her son’s grey eyes and thought ruefully of how often she’d prayed for a son that looked as much like Ned as his bastard did. Now, she could only pray that Ned could be cleared and restored to his seat at Winterfell before this son’s prayed-for face gave them all away. It would be easy enough to pass off the resemblance while he was a tiny infant, especially hidden away up here at Last Hearth. But Catelyn knew well enough what he’d look like as he grew. She’d watched Ned’s bastard grow more like him every day, after all.

“Then I suppose Rickard, Benjen, Torrhen are all out as well then,” Jon said with laughter in his voice.

“Any traditionally Stark name is out,” she said firmly.

He looked at her gently. “How about Hoster, then?” he asked her. “Surely no one could fault us for naming the lad after your father, especially as he was born so soon after Lord Hoster’s death.”

Catelyn’s lip trembled as she considered it. “It’s a lovely thought, Jon,” she said softly. “But at some point my brother Edmure will have to marry and have sons of his own. I think, perhaps, he might like his own heir to bear our father’s name, so that there may someday be another Lord Hoster Tully of Riverrun.”

“Another Tully name, then,” Jon encouraged her. “Catelyn, I will do many things for you and Lord Eddard, but I will not give my liege lord’s son an Umber name. It isn’t right.”

She nodded thoughtfully. “Brynden,” she said. “I shall name him for my uncle, if you agree.”

He smiled. “The Blackfish, eh? I liked the man. It’s a good name.” He smiled at the baby in her arms. “And you are a bit of a fish out of water for the time being, I fear, my lad.” He laid a big hand on the babe’s head. “Brynden Umber, you are then, for now.” He smiled at Catelyn. “But Brynden Stark, he shall be.”

 _Brynden Stark,_ she thought. _Your son, Ned. Our son, my love. I’ll keep him safe for you, I promise._

Jon looked at at her thoughtfully. “I will go and help your daughter round up our boys, my lady.” He smiled at her again. “We shall take our time returning.”

She squeezed his hand gratefully as he turned to go. She couldn’t begin to find words for what he meant to her.

Left alone with her son, Catelyn held the babe tightly to her, and allowed her mind and heart to fill completely with thoughts of her husband, her true husband. _Oh, Ned. I want you with me so much._ She leaned back against the pillows piled behind her and imagined she leaned against his strong chest. She closed her eyes and felt his arms encircling her, holding her and Brynden safe against him, helping her support the small, warm weight of their son. She could feel the tickle of his beard against the side of her face and hear his low growling chuckle as he traced Brynden’s face with his finger just as he had done with the other children before.

Then from the corridor, she heard a raucous voice shout out, “Brynden Umber!” and she opened her eyes, finding herself alone with her son in a keep that would never be her home. Far from her home, and far from her husband, Catelyn Stark held her newborn son to her heart and wept.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be a bit of a delay before chapter 4 is posted as I shall be taking a long awaited and much needed trip with my family. I promise I will get right back to it once we get home.


	4. Eddard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long delay, I know, but the big family trip is over, so I'm back to writing away! Updates will be more regular now. :)

“Cat,” he murmured, as he felt something soft brush against his face. Her hair? He wasn’t cold anymore. He couldn’t remember the last time he hadn’t been cold. He didn’t feel anything, and he couldn’t open his eyes. Something brushed against his face again, but it wasn’t hair. It felt more like cloth of some sort.

“He ain’t dead. He made a sound.” A man’s voice. Ned tried in vain to place the voice or to at least remember where he was.

“Are you tying to wake him up or just tickle him?” Another voice. Then Ned felt sharp slaps about his face and he moaned. He realized he was lying on his back. He still couldn’t open his eyes, and he still couldn’t remember where he was or how he’d gotten there.

“More dead than I alive, I think,” came the second voice again.

“We can’t just leave him here, though. We could take him to Castle Black. Look at his clothes. He looks to be a Crow.”

“I ain’t going north. It’s near a day’s ride from here to the Wall,” said the second man. “If you want to take him, sling him over your horse, but we keep heading for Last Hearth. Don’t know if he’ll make it there. He’s damn near frozen already. Look. He’ll for sure lose that finger. Don’t know about the ones covered by the gloves still.”

“If he dies, he dies,” said the first man. “But it won’t be because I just left him here. That ain’t right.”

 _Where am I?_ Ned tried to say, but it came out only as another moan.

“Well, get him on your horse then. A lot of daylight left for riding.”

Ned felt himself being lifted. _The ground,_ he thought. _I was lying on the ground_. He succeeded then in opening his eyes, or at least he thought he did, but he saw nothing but white. _White,_ he thought. _The white of the snow. The white of the Wall. The_ _Wall! Climbing._ He’d been nearly blind by the time he’d reached the top. And his left hand had gone numb--the hand with the torn glove. Memory began to tickle the edges of his mind, but important things still eluded him. He felt himself laid across the rump of a horse, and then he knew no more for a time. _____________________________________________________________________________________

“I think we can make it by sundown if we don’t stop today.”

The words filtered into Ned’s consciousness. The voice was familiar to him, although the words were slow to make sense. He felt he’d heard the voice forever slipping into nonsensical dreams of monsters and things dead. He attempted to move and found himself restrained by something.

“Hey, your pet Crow’s moving, Eddard!” another voice exclaimed. That voice had been in the dreams as well. _Eddard,_ he thought sluggishly. _That’s my name. Eddard Stark._

“Trying to move, anyway. You got him wrapped up too tight in that blanket,” the first man said. _Eddard. His name must_ _be_ _Eddard as well._  

 

Ned opened his eyes as he felt hands tugging at him, and saw a fuzzy grey blur moving above him. “Who . . .who?” he croaked, blinking furiously, trying to make himself see clearly.

The second man laughed. “Your Crow sounds like an owl, Edd.”

“At least he’s talking,” Edd said. “I think he’s going to make it to Last Hearth after all. If we get there before nightfall today, he might even keep part of that hand.” He turned his indistinct, but man-shaped form back toward Ned. “I’m Edd Woodheart. That’s Agger Snow. We’re Umber men.” He paused a moment. “Can you see me?”

Ned nodded. “ A little,” he croaked.

“Snowblind,” the man called Agger said, and as soon as he heard the word, Ned knew it to be so.

“It snowed something fierce the three days before we found you,” said Edd. “Nothing but snow anywhere. You were mostly covered up by it and I reckon that’s the only reason you ain’t froze to death. Where’d you come from?”

“The Wall,” Ned whispered. It hurt to speak. Agger seemed to recognize the difficulty for he got up and moved toward Ned, holding a flask of something warm and sharply alcoholic to his mouth. Ned gulped it and felt a burn all the way into his belly.

“Easy, man,” Agger laughed. “Not too much at once.”

Ned nodded his thanks. His vision continued to improve, and he could see that both men were heavily furred. He realized he was wrapped in furs as well, in spite of his proximity to a fire. “I climbed the Wall,” he said, his voice coming a little more easily after the drink.

“You a deserter from the Watch, then?” Agger said warily.

Ned shook his head. “A ranger. We were far north--the Fist of the First Men. We were attacked by . . .” His voice trailed off. As he had spoken the words, the memory of that night had rushed back.

“It’s all right, man. You don’t have to speak of it, now,” Edd said quickly. The man sounded truly concerned, and Ned wondered vaguely what his face had looked like as he recalled that awful night. “Let’s get you up on that horse. We’ll be to Last Hearth before you know it, and they’ll take care of you proper there.”

 _Last Hearth. Lord Umber’s seat. Catelyn._ Ned was too weak to stand, and the two men bundled him onto the horse rather like a parcel of some sort, apologizing to him as they did so, but he paid them no mind. _Cat._ They were taking him to his wife. _Lord_ _Umber’s wife._ And that thought wounded him more deeply than any cut he’d taken from Other or wight. Impossible longings for Catelyn warred with dark and terrible returning memories of his time beyond the Wall as the horse bounced him along. Beyond that, the physical pain to his ravaged body with each of the horse’s steps was almost unbearable. It was a mercy when Ned lost consciousness again a mere hour into their day’s journey. _____________________________________________________________________________________

He was next aware of a sweet substance being pressed to his lips, and he licked at it with his tongue, suddenly very thirsty. He heard a soft intake of breath and then a feminine whisper. “Water. Give me the water for him.”

 _Cat._ He knew he was dreaming, but her voice was so sweet even if she did sound tired and frightened.

“He shouldn’t wake yet, my lady,” came a man’s voice. Not the men from before, though. Not Eddard or . . .the other one. Ned couldn’t recall his name. “The maester feels we should keep him asleep still.”

“He’s been asleep for three days!” She sounded desperate. “His wounds are healing well, but he needs more than honey and water, Jon. He’s far too thin.” She was pouring water very slowly over his lips, and he felt himself swallow. He couldn’t open his eyes. He wanted to see her, but he couldn’t. Why was only her voice in his dream?

“He’s a Stark, my lady. He will be strong as a wolf in no time,” came the reply, and now Ned recognized the deep, booming voice of Greatjon Umber. He groaned. He did not want him in his dream.

Catelyn drew her breath in again. “Ned?” she asked, leaning close to him. He felt her hair brush against him, and he longed to reach up and touch it, but his limbs were heavy. He couldn’t open his eyes or speak or move. “Ned?” she whispered softly against his ear. “I am here, my love. You are safe.”

 _Safe,_ he thought, and he felt himself slipping into darkness away from the sound of her voice. _____________________________________________________________________________________

“You must go down to dinner, Catelyn.”

“I must be here when he wakes. He’s getting even less of the poppy today than yesterday. Your maester told me so himself.”

“He isn’t about to wake in the next hour, my lady. You must come to the hall with me.”

“I’m not leaving him.”

“You’ve scarcely left him for five minutes in five days! Your daughter does everything for Brynden save put him on her teat, and no one else in the Keep has seen you at all!”

Ned was becoming vaguely aware of an argument taking place somewhere above him.

“What do you want me to do, Jon?” The words were more sobbed than spoken, and Ned felt desperate to comfort her, but he still couldn’t quite reach the surface of the darkness where he lay.

Footsteps. The man, _Umber,_ came near to her. Too near. _Was he holding her?_ Ned fought against the darkness, almost as if he were swimming upward from the bottom of a deep pool, but he still couldn’t find the surface.

“Catelyn,” the Greatjon said quietly. “The entire household admires their lady’s devotion to nursing the injured and frozen brother of the Night’s Watch, but after so many days of such zealous devotion, even the slowest among them will begin to suspect who this particular man of the Watch might be. Marta will say nothing, nor Maester Clemmon, but other maids have come and gone. They see you sit here, my lady. Only a blind person could see you and not know all.”

He heard her sniffle. “Very well, my lord,” she said quietly. “I will come to dinner. And then I will retire to my own chamber.”

“And immediately use the passage between rooms, no doubt?” Jon Umber’s voice held amusement. “As you have every night for the past five days?”

Ned could hear affection in Catelyn’s voice as she responded. “You know me well. I am so grateful for all you have given me. I fear I take you for granted, Jon.”

“Nay, my lady. It brings me joy to see you smile. All will be well, Catelyn. You will see.”

 _No,_ Ned thought. _Nothing will ever be right._ He was right there then. Close enough to the surface to reach through and touch her. But he did not reach. He didn’t want to see his Cat in Jon Umber’s arms. He didn’t want to hear them speak of a passage from her chamber to his, hear them planning their future where all would be well. He couldn’t. He willed himself to sink back down.

As he spiraled deeper into the dark depths, he heard Catelyn speak again. “Let me get Sansa to stay with him. And bring me Brynden. I would have him with us, my lord.”

 _Sansa? My Sansa is here? And why is Catelyn’s uncle at Last Hearth?_ Just before he sank below any awareness at all, Ned was startled by a soft fall of hair against his face and softer lips upon his. “I’ll be back, my love,” came her whisper. _This must be a_ _dream now,_ he thought. The Lady of Last Hearth would not kiss another man while her own husband looked on. _____________________________________________________________________________________

“Father, Father, it’s all right. You're safe. I’m here.”

Ned became aware that he was breathing very hard and his heart was pounding. He had been back there. On the Fist of the First Men. Among the dying, the dead who wouldn’t stay dead, and the terrible Others with their icy blades. He shouted.

“Shhh, Father. It’s all right.” The young woman sounded distraught. He must have been shouting for some time. Shouting so that he could be heard. With a great effort, he opened his eyes, and saw the long, bright auburn hair falling down over her face.

“Cat,” he whispered hoarsely, reaching for her.

She shook her head, and the hair fell away from her face, revealing not his wife, but his daughter, somewhat blurry, but still looking more like Catelyn than she ever had. “It’s me, Father,” she said.

“Sansa,” he whispered.

She smiled then, through he thought she was also crying, and reached out to grasp the hand he had raised toward her between her own. “I am so glad you are awake,” she said. “I have missed you, Father!"

He turned slightly onto his side on the bed so that he could bring his left hand over to her as well, and was surprised to see the entire thing swathed in white linen half way to his elbow. She saw him staring at it and lowered her face a moment. He wished his vision were better because he could not see her expression clearly. “I take it my hand is injured?” he asked her.

She nodded. “You were wounded in several places, Father. The hand was the worst.” She bit her lip. "Maester Clemmon has done a wonderful job treating you.”

“Clemmon.” Ned repeated. “That’s Umber’s maester?” His mind was still sluggish, but he knew where he was. _Last Hearth._

Sansa nodded again. “Mother doesn’t like him half so well as she does Maester Luwin, and she’s hovered over him dreadfully every time he’s touched you, but he truly did do well.”

Ned stifled the bolt of joy he had no right to feel at the thought of Catelyn caring for him in such a manner and asked his daughter, “What precisely did the maester do for me, Sansa?” More and more he remembered that awful night, and the endless days and nights after it. His left palm had been sliced by the last Other who’d come upon them; the one who killed Orrik somewhere south of the Antler River. The glove on that hand had torn badly and been ripped still more during that torturous climb up the Wall. He remembered how cold his left hand had gotten during that climb before it had finally gone numb altogether, making the rope even harder to grasp. He wondered what was under that bandage.

His daughter was silent.

“Sansa,” he prompted gently.

“I should get Mother,” she said. “Dinner should be over. She may already be back in her room.”

“No,” Ned said. He didn’t think he was stong enough to see his Catelyn as Lady Umber, especially as great with child as she must be by now. That image disturbed him more than the image of a stump where his hand had been.

“But she’ll be furious!” Sansa protested. “Father, she hasn’t left your side. She only went to dinner tonight, because Lord Umber said she couldn’t skip another one and she’ll . . .”

“Another one? How long have I been here, Sansa?” Vague recollections of Cat’s voice and touch chased half-remembered words around his mind. He didn’t know what was real anymore.

“This is the fifth day,” his daughter said. “They’ve given you milk of the poppy. At first, so much that Mother had a difficult time getting you to even take the water and honey she dripped into your mouth. Yesterday, Maester Clemmon gave you less and today even less than that.”

Ned’s vision seemed to be improving even as he looked at her. He seemed to remember that he had seen nothing but white at some point. _Snowblind,_ he thought, and he was struck by a memory of staggering along the unforgiving, icy top of the Wall, barely able to see as he searched for a way down on the southern side, certain he was about to tumble off the edge at any moment. He’d barely been able to feel his feet, and he’d been virtually dragging his bad leg by that point. How he’d ever made it up that damned rope in the first place, he’d never know.

“You look so like her, “ he said softly.

She smiled at him. “I hear that even more often than I used to. Oh, Father!” she cried then, and threw herself down to put her arms around him. It hurt rather more than he expected it to. Apparently, his injuries extended to his torso, but he ignored the pain and wrapped his own arms around her as tightly as he could. He could remind her he was no longer her father later. Right now, he wanted only to hold his daughter close for this one moment.

When she pulled away from him, he could clearly see that she had tears in her eyes and on her cheeks. “I must go get Mother,” she said. “She’s been so worried about you!”

“No!” Ned said sharply as she pulled away from him. She looked at him, puzzled.

“You don’t want to see her? But, she’s been waiting and waiting for you to wake up. She cries all the time, and . . .”

“I don’t want to cause problems for your mother, Sansa,” he told her, adding between clenched teeth, “or her husband.”

“Her . . .oh!” she exclaimed as if she suddenly understood. “It’s all right, Father. No one knows who you are except Mother, me, Lord Umber and Smalljon. Oh, and Maester Clemmon, but he’s not going to say anything. And I think Mother’s maid knows, but Marta’s wonderful and I’m not worried about her telling a soul. We haven’t even told Rickon because Mother’s afraid he’s too young to keep a . . .”

“Rickon? Rickon is here, too?” Ned asked. He remembered that one painful day in Winterfell when his youngest hadn’t even known him. No doubt, he would be terrified of him in his current state.

“Yes,” Sansa replied. “He came here with Mother after that horrible wedding. Well, he was so young, she didn’t want to leave him. Of course, she didn’t want to leave any of us, but . . .oh, just let me go get her. It’s quite safe since no one knows about you.”

After that inexplicable torrent of words, Sansa seemed to believe she had explained everything, and she turned to leave, not by the door Ned could easily see at the foot of the bed, but behind an armoire which stood near the back corner. Apparently, another exit was concealed there for some reason. He shook his head, trying to make sense of anything, but fearing that in a world where Catelyn belonged to another man, very little could make sense.

“Ned!” He heard her cry his name before he saw her, and he sat up straight in the bed which made his head swim terribly. Black spots appeared before both eyes, but in spite of them, he saw her plainly enough when she emerged from the same place where Sansa had disappeared only a few moments before.

“Ned!” she said again, as she saw him sitting there, and then she was in his arms, sitting on the bed beside him, and virtually holding him up as he buried his face in her hair.

“Cat,” he breathed against the auburn cloud. “Oh gods, Cat.”

Nothing mattered then except that he held her. She was crying, and he ran the fingers of his right hand through her hair, silently cursing the bandage covering his left because he couldn’t feel her through it. “I was so afraid, Ned,” she was saying through her tears. “I was so afraid I was going to lose you.”

“Shh, my love,” he whispered to her, and as he lifted her head to look at her face, she kissed him. It was a fierce, hungry kiss and her arms held him much more tightly than Sansa’s had before. He felt like his ribs might crack, but he didn’t care. He kissed her back with strength he didn’t have, tasting her lips and her tongue. The dizziness he felt now had little to do with weakness or malnutrition, he thought. It was Cat. All he could see or feel was Cat.

“I’ve missed you so much, my lady,” he said, as she moved her lips away from his mouth and over his bearded cheek and his neck.

“I’ve missed you, my love,” she answered, pulling back to look at him. “And when they brought you in . . .gods, Ned, you looked dead. I thought I’d lost you!”

“Never. You could never . . .” he started to say. Then, as she relaxed her hold on him, his body’s weakened state made itself apparent, and he found himself about to black out. She saw it immediately and lay him back down, remaining there beside him.

“Easy, my love. You are very weak. I’ll have Marta bring up food for you. I’ll stay here with you tonight, and . . .”

“Stay? Cat, you can’t!” Even as the physical weakness made his head swim, the distance from her lips began to clear his mind. _Afraid of losing him? We are already lost, my love. Lost to each other._

“Of course, I can,” she said and began to lean down to him.

He put up his right hand to stop her. “Catelyn, stop. It isn’t right.”

“What?” Her blue eyes looked truly puzzled, and he swallowed hard. She had more honor than anyone he knew. He could not let her betray herself. He couldn’t help but look at her, though. She was so beautiful, even in an almost shapeless nightshift that clung to her body and . . .

She was not with child. It hit him then. He knew Catelyn’s body as well as he knew his own, and had he been thinking clearly when he held her, he’d have realized it right away. For one brief, wild moment of joy, he thought that perhaps all he had heard was mistaken. She belonged to no other man. Selfishly, he realized that he wanted that to be the case, whatever vows he had made. Then he looked at her more closely, and that moment passed. He did know her body well, and the extra fullness in her breasts told him all even without the small tell-tale spot of dampness on the fabric of the shift over her left nipple.

He felt suddenly very cold, indeed. “You have had a child, my lady,” he said dully.

The look of confusion and concern on her face melted away into an expression of pure joy. “Yes, my lord,” she said, smiling at him. “A son. Would you like to see him?”

Anguished, he turned his head sideways on the pillow so that he didn’t have to look at her.

“Ned?” she asked.

“Gods, Cat! How can you ask me that?”

“What?” Still that confusion filled her voice, now mingled with hurt. Could she honestly not understand what this did to him?

He forced himself to look back at those blue eyes he loved so much. “Catelyn,” he said in a voice little more than a whisper. “Cat . . .I know I told you to remarry. You should not suffer for my sins and mistakes. But it is difficult enough for me to be without you . . .to know that you are with another . . .without seeing the child.”

She shook her head slowly, as if she couldn’t understand him. “But, it is the same for me, my love, knowing you are at the Wall where I can‘t reach you,” she said. “I feel I may die sometimes without you here, but at least I have Brynden, and now you can see him, too, even if you can’t come home with us yet.”

“Home with you? Cat, have you taken leave of your senses? You are home. You are wed to Lord Umber, and he will keep you safe, as I cannot.” He took her hand then. “I am happy for you, Catelyn. I truly am. But do not ask me to watch you hold Jon Umber’s son to your breast. I am not strong enough to do that.”

She stared at him as if he had spoken in some tongue she did not comprehend. Then her face slowly changed as if understanding of a terrible truth had come to her. “You think . . .you believe that . . .” She pulled her hand from his and slowly stood up. “Jon Umber’s son,” she said, and her color rose to her cheeks and anger flashed in the depths of her eyes, making them an even more vivid blue. “Gods damn you, Eddard Stark!” she spat at him. “The Others take you for the fool that you are!” She was crying in earnest now. “And they can take me, too, for I’m the bigger fool for thinking you’d believe in me!” She stumbled into the armoire as she backed away from him, and then turned to flee behind it.

He had raised himself up on his elbow as she’d retreated from him, but he found he hadn’t the strength to rise any further, much less to go after her. _You shouldn’t go after her,_ he told himself. _She is not your wife._ But he hadn’t meant to hurt her. He’d rather die than cause her pain, and obviously she still had feelings for him just as he did for her. But those feelings were pointless now. Surely, she could see that.

He lay back and stared miserably at the ceiling. How had they come to this place? They had been strangers when he wedded her at Riverrun, and then worse than strangers when he brought her home to Winterfell to find Jon Snow there. In spite of all of that, something had grown between them--something so rare and beautiful that he had scarcely believed such feeling could exist between and a man and woman until he discovered it himself with his Catelyn--his lovely Tully bride, his children’s mother, his lady wife. And now they were worse than strangers once more.

He prayed as he lay there that he could find some way to mend the new hurt he’d caused her, that he could love her enough to truly wish that she find joy with Jon Umber. But even as he prayed, he realized his fist clenched at the thought of Umber’s name. How long he lay there, wishing he had never awakened from his poppy-induced slumber, he could not say.

Finally, he heard movement behind the armoire, and he looked up to see his daughter, _Gods, she looks like Catelyn!_ entering the room again, carrying some sort of bundle. He wondered vaguely where precisely that door behind the armoire went, and then he noticed Sansa’s bundle was moving.

“Sansa, I do not wish . . .”

“Mother told me what you do not wish,” she replied, and none of the joy and excitement her voice had held before remained. It was her mother’s voice, full of fiery anger, and yet it was somehow colder, harder. _A Stark voice,_ he thought. This flame haired daughter truly belonged to both of them, and that thought struck him like a blow as he looked at the babe in Sansa’s arms.

She cradled it gently, looking so much like Catelyn had when she’d held Sansa herself as a babe. The child would belong to all of them, he realized. Not just to Catelyn, but to his children, as well. Only he would remain apart, replaced by the Lord of Last Hearth.

“I always thought you were the wisest man I knew,” Sansa said, her voice quieter now, but still as hard as ice.

“I should think I’ve made enough grievous errors to disabuse you of that belief by now, my daughter.” He closed his eyes, suddenly exhausted.

“I thought you could at least count,” she said.

Her meaning escaped him, and he was far too tired to puzzle it out. “Go back to your mother, Sansa,” he said. “I fear I have caused her to suffer yet again, and she could use your comfort.”

Instead, Sansa walked to the bed and sat beside him, still holding the baby. “I will go, Father, after you’ve seen Brynden.”

Ned sighed. “Fine. Unwrap the lad, let me have a look at him, and then you can go tell your mother that I think your new half-brother is a fine boy, and I’m happy for her. Truly, Sansa, I want her to be happy.”

Sansa shook her head, removing the child’s wrappings. “Brother,” she said. “Brynden is my brother.”

“What?” he said absently, noting that the babe had dark hair, and finding himself curious in spite of himself about whether Catelyn’s new babe would look more like Smalljon, perhaps, than like his and Cat’s children.

“I said Brynden is my brother. My only half-brother is at the Wall.”

The reference to Jon brought such a jolt of pain to Ned that at first he missed the significance of Sansa’s words. Jon wasn’t at the Wall. Jon had gone to scout the Skirling Pass with Qhorin Halfhand and had not returned by the time of the attack at the Fist. He was likely dead. Overwhelmed by the freshly remembered grief over Jon’s loss, Ned didn’t even notice that Sansa had laid the babe on the bed beside him.

“Look at him,” she said now.

Still thinking about Jon, Ned looked down at the infant beside him, and felt a crossbow bolt strike his heart. _Promise me, Ned,_ Lyanna had said as she’d laid Jon in his arms. Ned now found himself looking at that same infant, and he had to blink several times to keep himself in the present. “My brother,” Sansa had said in that cool, Stark voice.

Ned stared at the baby boy, who stared back at him with his own grey eyes. “Oh, gods,” he said. “Oh, gods, Cat.” He reached for the child, but his left hand was useless, and his right arm was too weak to manage lifting the child on its own. “Help me, Sansa,” he said.

She understood and picked the babe up, placing him on Ned’s chest. Ned curled his right arm around him and touched the fine, dark hair on his head with his fingers. “Brynden,’ he said. “It’s a fine name.”

“A Tully name,” Sansa said softly. “Mother wouldn’t have an Umber name, and she couldn’t very well give him a Stark name, even though Lord Umber did jape about calling him Eddard.”

Ned almost choked at that. “He knows then?” he said.

Sansa looked at her father and frowned. “Brynden is the only reason Mother married Lord Umber. You don’t think she would ask him to do something like that and lie to him, do you?”

“No,” he whispered. “Your mother would not lie to the man she asked to raise a bastard.” _She has more honor than I do,_ he thought.

“He isn’t a bastard!” Sansa protested. “I know what you think, but you’re wrong! How can a lie make you not our father any more? How can anyone as evil as Joffrey make you take an oath that means anything?”

Ned shook his head. “It isn’t that simple, Sansa.”

“It should be,” she said.

He sighed. “Please go to your mother.” _What have I done to you, Cat?_ “Sansa, she needs you. I would not have her be alone now.” A tiny, terrible part of him wondered if she might go to Jon Umber for comfort, but he suppressed that thought.

She nodded. “Shall I take Brynden back?”

Suddenly, Ned did not want to relinquish his little son. _Son,_ he allowed himself to actually think the word for the first time. “Does he need to be fed?”

“Not yet. I can leave him here if you like. If Mother is still too upset to see you, I can come and take him to her in a bit.”

Ned nodded.

“She’s very angry at you. And hurt.”

He nodded again. “She thought I would know.”

“You should have known,” Sansa said.

He nodded a third time. “I fear I have very little strength at the moment, Sansa. Little Brynden will be fine here in the bed if I fall asleep, but don’t leave him too long. And I don’t want to sleep too long, either. I have slept enough. Your mother had said something about having food sent.”

His daughter smiled at him. “I can take care of that. You must get strong again.” She leaned over and kissed him and the baby. “For all of us.”

“I am very proud of you, Sansa,” he told her.

“I’m very angry at you,” she said, “for Mother’s sake.” She smiled again. “But I don’t think either of us will stay that way.” She paused. “The heir to Highgarden is riding to Winterfell to court me,” she said then.

Ned raised his brow. He didn’t like to think about Sansa being courted after the nightmare in King’s Landing. “Willas Tyrell?” he said.

She nodded. “It was Mother’s idea to make him come to Winterfell, and since the trip’s so long I got to come here to see her. I’m supposed to go back to Winterfell next week.”

“If you do not like this Tyrell man, Robb will not force the match,” Ned said. “Speak your mind to him, Sansa.”

“Oh, I will. I’m not as naïve as I was when I dreamed of being queen. I just want a husband I can love as Mother loves you, and to be loved in return.” She blushed then, and hurried back toward the armoire.

“What kind of door is that?” Ned asked her.

She laughed. “Last Hearth is full of little passageways. This room connects to Mother’s. That’s why you’re in it.” She blushed deeper then, and fled almost as quickly as Catelyn had earlier.

Ned stared at the babe on his chest and tried not to think of the problems he undoubtedly would cause. Jon Umber had dark brown hair, but anyone who’d ever met him or Brandon or Benjen or even Jon Snow would easily see the resemblance as Brynden grew. He thought of his three beautiful Tully-colored sons. He’d always been perfectly content with his boys. Any child that looked like Catelyn could be nothing but precious to him. But he knew she’d looked at Jon, and longed to give him a son in whom he could see himself.

“And there you are,” he said softly to Brynden, whose grey eyes had now closed in slumber. “And what am I going to do about it? How do I take care of you and your mother now?”

He sighed. How could he have been so blind? _I am sorry, Cat. I am sorry I put you in this position, and I am sorry I was too blind_ _to see what you’d done for me and our son. I am a fool. But I will find a way for you and Brynden to stay as safe as you are now. I promise you._

Finally allowing his own grey eyes to close, his large hand covering his sleeping son’s back as the boy’s heartbeat thrummed a rapid rhythm against his much slower one, Eddard Stark fell asleep.


	5. Catelyn

“So you have heard nothing from Castle Black?” Ned asked the Greatjon.

The big man shook his head. “Nothing, my lord. Nor have we sent them any word of you.” He hesitated. “You were close to death when Edd brought you in, and it seemed prudent to wait until we knew if you would survive.”

“Well, we must send a raven to the Wall now,” Ned said firmly, “as it appears I am not about to die.”

Catelyn caught her breath, but did not move from her chair in the corner of the room. Was he truly in so great a hurry to leave her once more?

“There is no hurry, my lord,” Jon said. “We have time. You must get stronger, and we must speak of what we do from here.”

Ned sighed. “You really need to stop using that title when you speak to me, Lord Umber. I do not own it.”

“Bugger that, Lord Stark!” Jon Umber boomed, and Catelyn could have kissed him for it. She observed Ned’s reaction to the outburst from the corner of her eye and could see that the man’s words had touched him, in spite of his rather obvious coldness toward Jon.

His attitude toward Jon frustrated her greatly. Since Jon and Catelyn had come to his room this morning, Ned had been all cold courtesy toward the man, but he looked at him as if he wanted to rip out his throat. On the one hand, the rather obvious display of jealousy reassured her that her husband did have some feelings for her, but on the other, it was such unfair treatment to the one person who was blameless in all of this--the man who had quite literally saved her and Bryden.

She knew Jon was puzzed by Ned’s demeanor, although she had come to know Lord Umber well enough to recognize that he less by bothered by Ned’s borderline rudeness to him than by his deliberate avoidance of her. She hadn’t actually told Jon all that had happened last night. Just thinking about it still hurt too much, and she honestly didn’t know where to begin anyway. So, she had merely gone to Jon’s chamber early this morning and told him Ned had awakened last night and should be lucid enough to speak with them now.

She was tired. She had spent most of the night in this chair, watching Ned sleep, holding Brynden as he slept, and nursing him when he woke. As angry as she was at Ned, she couldn’t stand the thought of him waking alone and in pain, so she had returned to keep her vigil through the night. He had slept soundly, and when he started to stir, she had fetched Sansa from her room to be with him when he woke and have a tray prepared for him. Sansa had taken Brynden back to Catelyn’s room when she’d brought Jon here.

Ned had been sitting up in the bed, propped on numerous pillows when they arrived, and when he saw the two of them enter together, his grey eyes had gone the color of a stormy winter sky. They hadn’t lightened since, but they did look a fraction less cold as he responded to Jon’s words now.

“You are a good man, Jon,” he said quietly. “And a more loyal one than I deserve. I am grateful for the care you have given to Lady Umber and . . .”

“Gods, man!” the Greatjon burst out, obviously uncomfortable with Ned calling her that. “Her name is Catelyn! Do you think I expect you not to use it?”

“I . .” Ned stammered. “I . . .only mean to give both of you the respect you deserve.”

Jon shook his head, looking rather like a puzzled bear. She truly did owe him a better explanation of what had gone on here. “Well, my lord, why don’t we begin by your telling us how Edd came to find you buried up to your neck in snow just south of the Wall?”

“Edd . . .” Ned said, “Yes, one of them was called Edd . . .Eddard. There were two, though. Two men found me.”

Jon looked puzzled again. “Only Eddard Woodheart carried you into the Keep, bellowing like a giant about a wounded Crow. He’d been out hunting and . . .oh. He must have been with Agger.”

“Agger!” Ned cried. “Yes, that’s it! Big man. Older and bigger than the one called Edd.”

Jon snorted. “Well, he would be big, wouldn’t he? He’s my uncle, Ned. Half-uncle, really. My grandfather’s bastard.”

Ned raised his eyebrows. “I didn’t know you had any uncles besides Mors and Hothar.”

Jon scratched his beard. “Well, you wouldn’t. It’s not a pretty tale. You are familiar with the Right of the First Night, aren’t you?”

Ned frowned. “A barbaric, and I might add, illegal custom that I understand is no longer practiced by House Umber,” he said coldly.

“It isn’t,” Jon said firmly. “Not in at least five generations. With this one exception. My father was a good man, my lord. You know that. Hard and rough, but good. My grandfather was apparently a different sort. I never knew the man, but some of the older housestaff have told me he was a little like my uncles, but far less civilized.

Catelyn snorted in spite of herself at the thought of a lord less civilized than Mors and Hothar Umber.

Jon smiled weakly at her. “Exactly, my lady,” he said. “Agger’s mother was a real beauty, the story goes, and my grandfather had tried to take her to bed any number of times, but her father was having none of it. Said his little girl would be married proper and not be a lord’s whore. That made my grandfather angry. So when the lass was set to wed the blacksmith, he showed up at the wedding with armed men and demanded his rights to the first night as her lord. The blacksmith put her out when she started to swell and nine moons later she had Agger.”

“That’s terrible,” Catelyn whispered, horrified by the injustice done to this poor girl and her babe, and equally terrified at the prospect of what could happen to Brynden should whispers about his paternity start making their way around Last Hearth before she could somehow arrange to have all of them safe.

“Aye, it was,” Jon said. “The old man never acknowledged him, but he died before Agger’s tenth name day, and my father, to his credit, offered him the Umber name and a place at Last Hearth as soon as he became lord. His mother wouldn’t have it, though. Hated the lot of us til her death. And Agger, well, he gets on with all of us all right, and you’ll never find a better hunter or tracker, but he keeps the name Snow, and he won’t set foot in the Keep out of respect for his mother.”

Ned shook his head. “I’d heard tales at times, of the mountain chieftains perhaps doing such things, but . . .”

“Oh, you’ll hear it of us, too, my lord, if you ask the right people. There’s no truth in it for my father or myself or my son, but my grandfather’s shame lingers. I don’t know if our house will ever be free of it.”

They were silent for a moment, and Catelyn wondered if perhaps his grandfather’s shame had something to do with Jon’s eagerness to help her and Brynden. Had wedding her and protecting her from shame been an atonement for an old family sin as well as an act of loyalty to Ned?

“But I would hear your tale, Lord Stark,” Jon said then. “How did you get to be where Edd and Agger found you?”

Ned sighed, and Catelyn saw a deep pain in those grey eyes of his. “Lord Commander Mormont had commanded a great ranging. The wildlings were disappearing--going somewhere, and we knew not where-- in large numbers. And odd things were happening. Dead men rising up to kill the living.” He shook his head slowly. “You’ll think me mad, but I saw the wights myself. Dead brothers of the Watch rising up with bright blue eyes and no thought but to kill.”

Catelyn shuddered. She had never heard Ned speak so. He’d always laughed at her for clinging more tightly to him in the bed after listening to the scarier sort of Old Nan’s stories. He didn’t believe in such things. She looked at her husband’s haunted face. He believed now.

“We had gone far north of the Wall and gathered at a place called the Fist of the First Men to make a stand. We sent out scouting parties to look for the missing wildlings, for we‘d been given information that they were gathering a great host. None returned.” He sounded inexpressibly sad when he said that. “We debated endlessly whether to push forward and attack, to remain where we were, or to return to the Wall. Then one night, it didn’t matter anymore. They came for us.” He stopped speaking.

“The wildlings?” Jon asked.

Ned shook his head. “The Others. There were wights, countless wights, and not just dead men. I watched a decayed bear kill four men before my very eyes.” His voice sounded hollow, and Catelyn wanted badly to go to him and take him in her arms. “They weren’t the worst, though. They were slow and clumsy. You could destroy them with fire. It was only the sheer numbers of them that made them so terrible. The Others were worse.”

“White Walkers? Truly?” Catelyn whispered.

He turned and looked at her. Really looked at her for the first time since she and Jon had entered his room. And his face seemed to crumble, just a little, as his eyes met hers and showed her the depth of the horror he’d experienced. “Oh, Ned,” she whispered.

He swallowed and continued speaking, keeping his eyes on her. “They were cold. They made everything cold. They are terrible and white and swift. And they did not burn easily like their wights. Their blades were colder than anything I’d ever felt.” Catelyn noticed he cradled his injured left hand as he said that. “And as for our blades, they did nothing. Nothing.” He lowered his head.

Neither Catelyn nor Greatjon Umber said a word, and after a moment, he continued. “The battle was lost. Men were dying all around us. And they weren’t staying dead. You’d escape an Other merely to turn around and fight one of your brothers with bright blue eyes.” He sighed. “Finally, Lord Commander Mormont called a retreat. A rear guard would make a last stand on the Fist, even charge directly at the Others if necessary, to give what men survived a chance to escape south.”

“And you volunteered to lead that rear guard.” It wasn’t a question. She knew he had. He’d believed his family and home lost to him forever. Of course, the man had volunteered to die honorably defending the Night’s Watch.

He looked up at her again and nodded once. _Damn you and your bloody honor to all seven hells, Eddard Stark!_ she thought savagely. To think of him trying to throw his life away both terrified and infuriated her.

“We were overrun very quickly,” he said. “I honestly don’t know what precisely went on after that. I know I was stabbed at least once somewhere on my back.”

“Just below your left shoulder blade,” Catelyn whispered. “And another, more of a glancing wound on your right flank. And your left hand . . .”

“The hand was later,” he said. “I think I lost consciousness at some point. When I awoke, I was alone.” His voice was desolate. “I struck out southward. The wound in my back kept opening as I walked and the blood would freeze my shirt to my skin. It made it hard to walk. My leg was worse, too. I don’t know if I’d hurt it again or if I’d just been on it too much, but it got worse every step. I found a few corpses, but not many. I supposed these men had died after sunrise because the wights tend to rise up night. I took any garments off them that might help keep me warm, and any bits of food they had. I walked all day, and some time after sunset, I came across a man from the Watch named Orrik. He and several other men had been at the back of the column and got separated from the others as they went south.They’d been set upon by Others and wights, and all but Orrik were slain. He’d been driven back to the north trying to escape them. We couldn’t go south. We didn’t want to go north, so we turned east. We walked for days, always trying to find someplace to hide at night. We had no food, save what little bit I’d foraged before leaving the Fist. Finally we came to the south bank of the Antler River. Orrik was a fair fishermen. He actually managed to catch three fish over the next couple days. It was hard to leave the river, but we knew we had to turn south eventually, so we did. We were attacked a few times, never by wildings, always wights, and a couple times an Other.”

He took a deep breath and reached for the cup on his tray. It was just out of his reach, so Catelyn rose from her chair to hand it to him. The touch of his fingers on hers as she did so went through her like an electric shock. He met her eyes, and she knew he felt it, too. Tears welled up in her eyes as she returned to her seat.

“The last attack came no more than a day from the Wall,” Ned said after taking a big drink. “Three wights with one White Walker. The wights were nothing. We kept burning torches at all times, so we burned them quickly. This Walker wasn’t even slowed by the fire. I kept slashing at it with my sword which I knew wouldn’t hurt it, but I didn’t know what else to do. It knocked me to the ground on my back and I lost my sword. It slashed downward at me. I held up my hands, and that cold blade hit the left one, slicing my glove and my hand, too, I think. Then I heard Orrik yell. He charged the thing, the poor, brave fool. It turned around cut him in two. Then it turned back to me. I had no sword now. Then I remembered the dagger Jon had given me. He’d found an odd little cache of dragonglass weapons up near the Fist, and given them out as souvenirs of a sort. I had the dagger in my boot, and since I had nothing else, I grabbed it and slashed up at the thing as it bent over me. It screamed when I stuck it and then . . .”

“Then what?” asked the Greatjon. Catelyn looked toward him and saw that he literally sat forward on the edge of his seat, leaning toward Ned.

“It . . .melted. The Other, I mean. It just disappeared, more or less.” Ned shrugged. “Apparently dragonglass kills them. The blade was ice cold when I picked it back up.”

“What happened after that?” Catelyn asked softly.

He smiled sadly. “I don’t honestly know, Cat,” he said, and she knew his mind was far away because he didn’t call her Lady Umber. “I kept going south and I came to the Wall. I don’t know if it was one day or two or more. I was cold, and hungry, and my left hand hurt like hell. And then it didn’t hurt at all anymore and that was worse. It snowed a lot, and I kept my face all wrapped up, but my eyes burned all the time. I dreamed strange things all the time, and not just when I was asleep. I walked along beside the Wall because I didn’t know what else to do, and I found the rope.”

“Rope?” Jon asked.

“The Wildlings climb the Wall, Jon. The Night’s Watch is sadly undermanned so large expanses of the Wall are unwatched. They throw up ropes, and over they go. Although it sounds a hell of a lot easier than it is.”

“You climbed the Wall on a rope?” Catelyn asked him incredulously.

He nodded. “Don’t ask me how I did it. I don’t remember a thing about it except that it hurt, and that I couldn’t see, and that I couldn’t even feel the damn rope with my left hand after awhile. Once I got to the top, I damn near fell off when I tried to stand up. Then I walked until I found steps.”

“Steps?” Catelyn asked.

He nodded once more. “There are numerous small castles all along the Wall, and there are some sort of stairs at each of them, not all in good repair, of course, since they’re all deserted save Castle Black, Shadow, and Eastwatch. I don’t remember coming down, but I must have found stairs. I don’t think there’d have been this much of me for Edd and Agger to bring to Last Hearth if I actually had fallen off.

The Greatjon nodded. “Edd guessed you’d come down at Woodswatch-by-the-Pool or maybe even Sable Hall. He found you sort of between those two.”

“That’s truly all I can tell you,” Ned said then. “We should send a raven to Castle Black. I need to know if the others made it back with Lord Commander Mormont. The Watch needs to prepare in case these things attack the Wall. I have no doubt they’ve been attacking the wildlings. That must be why they’ve all banded together. If I were Mance Rayder, I’d be trying to get south of the Wall away from those things, so the Watch may face a wildling attack as well.”

Ned’s voice had become more and more hoarse as he spoke. He was very weak, and so much talking had exhausted him.

“Yes, yes,” Jon said. “All of those things must be done, and will be done. But you can do nothing right now, my lord, save rest and heal. I shall leave you to do that now.” The big man rose and bowed quickly to Ned, who apparently didn’t have the energy to argue with him about doing so. Then he turned toward Catelyn, and bowed to her as well. “My lady,” he said. “I shall leave you.” Then without another word, he walked from the room, leaving Ned and Catelyn alone together.

They sat there, staring at each other in silence for a moment before she whispered angrily, “You could have died!”

“I thought that I would,” he said evenly, his grey gaze not wavering from her own. “But if any of the men with Mormont returned safely to Castle Black, it would be worth it.”

“No!” she cried. “It wouldn’t! Did you not for one moment consider what your death would do to me? I almost died when I saw you carried in here! You have no right to simply throw yourself away!”

She had risen as she spoke and was on the verge of going to him where he sat on the bed, wanting both to shake him violently and hold him safely, but his next words caused her to stop dead.

“I am no longer your husband, Lady Umber. I cannot think of you,” he said quietly.

Stunned, she sank slowly back down into the chair, trying not crumble under the impact of those cruel words. Folding her hands into her lap, she stared down at them, and managed to keep most of the tremor from her voice as she said. “You cannot think of me. So, it would pain you not then to hear of my death, my lord?”

“Gods, Cat!” he exclaimed. “Don’t even say such a thing! Do you not know that I . . .” He stopped in mid outburst, and she looked up at him. In spite of her grief and anger, she could not help but smile just a little at the expression on his face.

He gave her a rueful smile in return. “Point taken, my lady.” He swallowed. “It seems neither of us can simply change the way we feel.” He looked down, then, as if he had admitted some terrible sin.

“Only one of us seems to think we should,” she said levelly.

He looked up sharply at that, but made no reply to it. He stared at her for a long moment, and his features softened. “You are tired, Cat. You were here most of the night, weren’t you?”

That startled her, and she almost denied it, but he would know it for a lie. “How could you know that?” she asked instead. “You were asleep.”

“Most of the time,” he nodded. “But sometimes I woke to see you nearly asleep, there in that chair, holding our . . .son.”

Her heart lurched to hear him say the word ‘son’, and the tears she’d managed to keep at bay thus far filled her eyes.

“You looked so beautiful, Cat, holding Brynden there, and I am ashamed of the grief I’ve brought on you both.” The grey eyes were dry as they always were, but the pain in them was as deep and terrible as any Catelyn had ever seen there. “I am sorry, my love," he whispered.

 _My love._ He had not called her that since she had thrown herself into his arms when he had first awakened. And he’d called their son by name. “Don’t be,” said softly. “Please don’t ever be sorry for that night at Winterfell, and certainly not for Brynden.”

“But I . . .I cannot protect you.” He sounded desolate. “Jon is a good man, Catelyn. You chose well. He will allow no harm to you or the babe.”

“I know,” she said. “You might remember that when next you speak with him, though. He deserves our gratitude, not your ill-treatment.”

A flash of anger passed through his eyes, but it was quickly replaced by resignation. “I am aware of what he has done. I shall endeavor to be more courteous to your lord husband, my lady.”

Those words went through her heart like a little icy dagger. He still didn’t see himself as her husband. He could look at their infant son and still deny that they were husband and wife. She bit her lip hard to keep from speaking then because any retort from her would likely be met with some statement about oaths or vows, and if she heard either of those words from him, she feared she might do him violence.

Swallowing hard, she said, “Perhaps I will rest, my lord. You should do the same. Maester Clemmon will want to have a look at your hand at some point now that you are awake, and I shall return when he does.”

She saw a variety of emotions play across his face then. _Odd,_ she thought, _how once I thought that face so frozen and_ _impassive._ She had long since come to rely on her ability to read his face to fill in the words he didn’t speak.

“I have a hand, then?” he asked quietly.

“Yes, Ned,” she said softly. She did rise then and went to sit beside him on the bed. She couldn’t tell him this without touching him however complicated her feelings for him were at the moment. Taking his right hand in hers, she looked directly at him. “Your wound was not too terrible, but there was some frostbite, I fear. You lost the fifth finger and the tip of the fourth.” She felt his grip on her hand tense as he absorbed the knowledge he had indeed been maimed. “The rest of the hand should heal very well. Maester Clemmon believes you will not be much limited by it at all.”

He nodded, the muscles in his jaw tight. “At least it is not my sword hand,” he said after a moment. Then he looked at her. “Take off the wrap, Catelyn.”

“But, Maester Clemmon . . .”

“I want to see my hand.” His words were ice, and she had faced that determination often enough to know there was no arguing with him.

“All right. I’ll go get the maester now.”

“No,” he said quickly, holding her hand even more tightly. “I . . .I would have my first sight of it be with no one here save you.” He looked at her almost pleadingly. “It is craven of me, I know, but I confess I almost fear to see it, my lady. I would not have an audience to my shame.”

 _But you would have me. Oh gods, Ned._ She was afraid to speak,as she was so filled with emotion she thought any sound she made might become a sob. She simply nodded, squeezed his hand, and rose to get the scissors from where they had been laid. Then she carefully began cutting away at the bandage, becoming vaguely aware as she worked, that Ned not only kept his eyes on her face, but his good hand rested on her arm, toying with a strand of her hair that fell over it as if it were some sort of talisman.

“There,” she said finally, as she unwrapped the last of the linen from his hand. In truth, it did not look too bad to her, for the swelling had come down and the terrible blackened bits that She had cried out upon seeing were now gone. She looked closely at the edge of the palm where the heavy stitches closed up the skin where the fifth finger had once been and was relieved to see no sign of putrification.

She looked up at Ned’s face then and saw him staring at his hand as if he’d never seen it before. He flexed it then, curling the thumb and remaining fingers into a fist and grimaced slightly with pain. “It will be tight for a bit, but will loosen with time,” she assured him. “The maester says you should be able to use it without pain.”

He laughed somewhat bitterly at that. “Without pain. Pycelle said the same thing about my damned leg in King’s Landing,” he said. “I doubt this one knows any more about it than he did.”

“Oh, Ned,” she said, her heart going out to him.

He looked back up to her face, and smiled sadly at her. “Do not concern yourself over it. The man has done a fine job on it and it will work well enough. Truly, my lady, it concerns me little.” His right hand had never left her arm, and now he lifted the left to touch her face softly and then run his fingers gently down the length of her hair. “I have already lost far more valuable things than a little finger.”

Suddenly, he withdrew both hands from her and took a deep breath. “You must go now, Lady Umber. We both need our rest.” Then, with only the slightest hitch in his voice, he added, “And I do not think it wise for us to be long alone together.”

She wanted to stay. She wanted to wrap her arms around him and tell him there was no reason in the world for them not to be together. But how could you speak to a man who would not listen? “As you say, my lord,” she said simply. “I shall bring Brynden to see you later.”

“I would like that,” he said as she rose and went to the door. “Catelyn,” he said, once she was across the room from him. “Thank you for . . .” he waved his left hand vaguely.

“You are welcome, my lord.”

He shook his head. “You and Lord Umber truly need to get out of the habit of addressing me by a title I cannot claim.”

At that, she couldn’t help herself. “Perhaps, it is you, my lord, who needs to stop believing you cannot claim it,” she snapped. “Robb, Jon, and I would see it returned to you, as would most of the North. Mayhaps, you should consider listening to us at some point.” She then turned on her heel and left before he could say one word about his vows to the wretched Night’s Watch.

She sent Sansa to him later with Brynden, as she found herself unable to face him again. Unable to face his steadfast refusal to see her as his wife. She took her evening meal in the Hall seated between Jon and Rickon and listened to her little boy tell about the elk the Smalljon had brought down in a voice filled awed adoration.

“He’s the strongest man in the world,” Rickon gushed. “Once the beast was staggering a little from the arrows, he jumped off his horse and threw it to the ground by its antlers!”

“And did you witness this mighty feat yourself, young Rickon?” the Greatjon asked him, leaning around Catelyn to look at the boy.

“Well . . .no. They wouldn’t let me come on the hunt. Said I’m too little. But Jon and the others told me all about it!” Rickon assured him.

The Greatjon laughed loudly and looked toward his own son. “I’d be careful of believing too much of what comes from these mouths, little wolf.”

“Aw, come now,” Smalljon Umber protested, in an affronted tone. “You know I’m far too fond of our little wolf to ever mislead him. Have faith in me, Father!”

“Yes!” Rickon cried loyally. “Have faith in him, Father!”

The laughter left Catelyn’s eyes instantly at his words, and she felt her heart sink into her toes. She felt Jon grab at her left hand to steady her, and she was grateful for it. She swallowed hard, and did not speak as she feared she would scream at her son if she attempted to say anything.

“I am not your father, Rickon,” Jon said firmly, but not unkindly to the boy. “I have told you that you are welcome to call me by my given name as you are family now, but your father is Eddard Stark. I would not have you forget that.”

“I’m sorry,” Rickon said contritely, staring back and forth between Catelyn and Jon. “It’s just that he’s gone. I don’t remember him really, except that one time he came to Winterfell, and he didn’t act like my father then. You do. And Smalljon says he is my brother.” The little boy’s lip began to tremble as he said that last in a very quiet voice.

Catelyn swallowed again and blinked away the tears that threatened. “It is all right, Rickon,” she whispered. “And I think it’s quite loyal of you to stand up to Lord Umber in defense of Smalljon.” She tried valiantly to smile at him, and he jumped off his chair to come to her. She put her arms around him to assure him she wasn’t angry with him, not trusting herself to speak further at the moment.

Smalljon Umber rose from his seat and came around behind Rickon. “If you are quite finished eating, pup, I believe I promised to show you how they stretch that big elk’s skin, did I not?”

“Yes!” Rickon shouted, jumping out of Catelyn’s arms, all distress forgotten. “Can I be excused now, Mother, please?”

She nodded, and he launched himself at his step-brother, who swung him up easily onto his his shoulders. “You mind Smalljon, Rickon!” she called after him as the tall young man carried him from the Hall. She watched the two of them go, and then turned to the Greatjon. “I should see to Brynden, my lord. I left Marta with him in my room.”

“Not Sansa?” he asked.

She shook her head. “She’s with . . .” She bit her lip. She had almost said “her father” right here in the Hall. “Please excuse me, my lord,” she said, truly afraid she could not maintain her composure one moment longer.

He stood. “Allow me to escort you, my lady,” he said, offering his arm.

She clutched at it gratefully as she rose, and together they walked from the Hall, not speaking until they reached her chambers. Marta looked up as they entered, and concern immediately showed on her face. “Are you quite all right, my lady?” she asked Catelyn.

“I am fine. Where is Brynden?”

“The lad’s just gone to sleep. He’s in his cradle there.” She looked hard at Catelyn. “But sit down, my lady. You don’t look fine, whatever you say.”

With Jon’s assistance, Marta ushered her into a chair, and Catelyn sat.

“You may leave us now, Marta,” Jon told her quietly. “Lady Catelyn has merely had a very long day. I will stay with her.”

Marta nodded and left the room. When she had gone, Jon pulled a chair close to Catelyn’s and sat down across from her.

“He’s just a child, Catelyn. He meant nothing by what he said.”

“I know that. But . . .gods be good, Jon, his father lies right in there!” She flung her arm toward the tapestry which hid the passage to Ned’s room and then buried her face in her hands.

“Would you like me to get the boy so you can take him to Lord Eddard?” Jon asked.

She shook her head. “No,” she said bleakly. “It isn’t safe. I almost spoke of him as Sansa’s father in the Hall tonight. How could a child like Rickon not tell someone?” She looked up at the man she was supposed to call husband. “Besides,” she added bitterly. “Ned would not want it. Rickon is the only one of us doing what he thinks we all should.”

“What is that, my lady?”

“Forgetting he exists.” She put her head back down then and began to weep in earnest. Jon made shushing noises and patted her back sort of awkwardly as she tried to pull herself together. After a few moments, she was able to sit up and look at him again. “Forgive me, Jon. As you said, it has been a long day.”

He regarded her carefully. “What did he say to you, Catelyn?”

She sighed. “It isn’t what he says, but what he believes. He truly believes that he is not my husband. He sees himself bound by the vows of the Night’s Watch and me bound in marriage to you.”

Greatjon Umber stared at her speechlessly for a brief moment, and then said, “But . . .but has he not seen the babe?”

She nodded. “He knows Brynden is his child, and that is why you wed me. It simply does not make me any less your wife.”

“But you are not my wife,” he spluttered. “We . . . we have never . . .we . . .”

“He does not seem to realize that,” she said very softly.

Now Greatjon Umber nearly exploded from his chair. “WHAT?” he thundered. “Damnation! What kind of villain does the man take me for?”

Alarmed, Catelyn stood as well and put her hand on his arm. “No villain at all, my lord. Please, calm yourself.” She took a deep breath. “He sees you as a good man who wed a ruined woman and agreed to raise her bastard for the sake of old loyalties in order to protect us from shame.”

“Bastard? Ruined woman?” Jon threw off her arm. “What in all hells is he thinking? Did those Others scramble his brain?” He turned in the direction of the passage. “I’ll bloody well set him straight.”

“No!” Catelyn cried out, and he turned around. “Please, my lord. He does not blame me, and he has no ill will toward you. He blames only himself. He honestly believes he dishonored me by lying with me in Winterfell the night we made Brynden because he’d already said those stupid words and put on those ugly black clothes. He carries enough guilt without your adding more.”

She watched the fury slowly ebb from the Greatjon’s features as he stood before her breathing deeply. “I never knew my liege lord was such a fool,” he said finally.

She tried to smile, but failed, as she said, “The most honorable fool in the Seven Kingdoms, I’m afraid.”

Jon came back to her then and took her hands in his. “No man should be held to a vow made with a sword above his head and his family’s. Surely, given time to recover from all he’s been through, Lord Stark will see that and become a part of our efforts to restore him to his seat.” He was more successful in his attempt to smile. “I shall not punch him, my lady, or even go and yell at him. But, Catelyn, you must make certain he understands the true nature of this marriage of ours, or I most certainly shall enlighten him on that score.”

She nodded. “I’ll speak with him on the morrow.”

On the morrow, however, a raven arrived from Lord Rickard in the Karhold detailing the capture of three deserters from the Night’s Watch and several wildlings. Apparently these men carried wild tales of monsters beyond the Wall, and Lord Karstark wondered if Lord Umber, being closer to the Wall than any other northern seat, had heard any strange tidings.

Jon spent much of the early part of the day in Ned’s room as the two men considered how to reply. Even Ned apparently agreed that keeping his identity secret for the present was desirable, and certainly no one wanted Rickard Karstark to come to Last Hearth. Jon had promised Catelyn not to speak of her at all, and she had chosen to stay away from that discussion, instead spending her time with Sansa and Brynden, and briefly watching Rickon play at sword fighting with another little boy his age.

Evening meal came once more without her entering Ned’s room again, and as she finished eating what little food she could force into her stomach, Jon turned to her. “I believe you need to have a conversation with someone, my lady,” he said quietly. “There is not much left of today, you know.”

“I know,” she said. She turned to Sansa, who had come to the Hall that evening. “Sweetling, I fear your poor mother is rather tired. I think I shall go up to my room early. Would you like to come with me and help with Brynden?”

Sansa looked at her oddly, but nodded. Then Rickon burst in, “I’ll help with Brynden!”

Jon started to say something to the boy, but Catelyn put her hand on his arm. “I don’t want him to feel unwelcome in my room, my lord,” she said quietly. “He’ll tire of the baby quickly. If you could perhaps send young Jon to my chambers in a bit with some particularly lethal looking piece of weaponry, Rickon will be led away easily enough.”

Smiling at the table at large, she then said more loudly. “Come then, children, I would enjoy a quiet evening with all three of my babes here before Sansa returns to Winterfell.”

As she had predicted, Rickon soon grew tired of comparing the size of his hands, feet, ears, and various body parts to Brynden’s with exclamations of “Look how tiny he is!” and he found to his dismay that Catelyn and Sansa were not as enchanted by his discovery that holding Brynden’s nose closed made him wiggle furiously as he was. “It’s not like I’m hurting him!” When Smalljon Umber arrived with a new crossbow less than half an hour later, the child positively flew from Catelyn’s room.

“What is going on, Mother?” Sansa asked as soon as the man and boy had gone. “You haven’t seen Father all day. I know he was an idiot about Brynden, but . . .”

“I am going to speak with your Father as soon as I‘ve fed Brynden, Sansa, and I do not wish to be disturbed. That’s why I’d prefer you to sit with Brynden rather than Marta.”

Sansa looked at her, obviously wanting more explanation, but too much the dutiful daughter to press her with more questions. As she undid the front laces of her dress and freed one of her breasts for her hungry son, Catelyn considered how much, if any, of what lay between Ned and herself Sansa needed to hear. Her daughter was still very young, and if this match with Highgarden came to fruition, Catelyn hoped for a long betrothal. Even so, it is likely that Sansa would be sent to Highgarden sooner rather than later, and Catelyn felt she needed to tell her daughter some things now, whether she was old enough to understand them fully or not.

“You know I have not taken Lord Umber into my bed,” she said calmly as Brynden suckled contentedly.

Sansa blushed, but nodded.

“Your father does not know that.”

“What?” Her daughters eyes and mouth both opened to an almost comic extent, and Catelyn found herself absurdly wanting to laugh.

“Your father believes I am well and truly wed to Jon Umber.”

“But he’s seen Brynden! I know he was an idiot at first, but he knows now!”

Catelyn sighed. “He knows why Jon wed me, but he does not know the marriage is a sham. Your father believes himself sworn to the Night’s Watch forever, and therefore never again able to be my husband. In his mind, there is no reason for me not to remarry in truth for mine and Brynden’s protection.”

Sansa shook her head. “But he hated it! He can’t stand the idea of you being Lady Umber. Gods, Mother! He almost growls every time he says it!”

Catelyn gave her daughter a very small, tight smile. “Your father loves me, Sansa, and I him. That doesn’t change because he believes our marriage is ended. The feelings between a man and woman can be quite intense, sweetling, but I fear they are also far more complicated than your songs would have you believe.”

“I don’t believe in songs, anymore,” Sansa said in a voice that broke Catelyn’s heart.

“That is probably for the best,” she sadly. “But it doesn’t mean that all good things in life are lies. I did not love your father when I wed him, child, and he did not love me. Mayhaps, he already loved another when he learned he must wed me for duty. I do not know. We have never spoken of it.” Images of Ashara Dayne and the tales from the tournament at Harrenhall drifted through her mind. “But he was a good man. Kind and honorable, and I thought we could make a good marriage. Then I almost closed my heart completely to that idea when he returned from war with a bastard.”

Sansa jumped then. Catelyn had never spoken like this to her before. “I felt insulted and dishonored. It was hard to forgive, and I did not even love him then. Over time, I allowed myself to see the man he was rather than the insult I’d felt, and little by little I came to love him deeply. Do you understand?”

Sansa nodded, but looked puzzled.

“Your father and I both wanted to be happy in our marriage, and so we were. We worked toward each other instead of against each other and found our way to love. That wouldn’t be possible with just any man, but I believe you can make it possible with a good man. If this Willas Tyrell is a good man, open yourself to him and encourage him to do the same with you. You can find happiness in marriage, Sansa, even if it doesn’t start as a song. Your father and I were proof of that.”

“And if he isn’t a good man?” Sansa whispered, and Catelyn knew she thought of Joffrey.

“Then tell your brother Robb that you won’t have him, and he’ll send the man packing.”

Sansa smiled, but quickly grew serious again. “You said were. You and father WERE proof of that.”

Catelyn smiled sadly. “I hope we still are, love, but I also told you the feelings between a man and woman are not simple.” She chewed her lip thoughtfully a moment before continuing. “I do not like your bastard brother, Sansa.” She watched her daughter’s face register shock again as she spoke of this forbidden topic. “It is no fault of his own, but I could look at him and see nothing but a threat to my children and a reminder that Ned once loved a woman who was not me. That last part actually hurt more as I came to love him more. It isn’t fair really, but I can’t help it. And your father likely can’t help how he feels now. He believes he cannot have me and doesn’t wish me to be alone and miserable, but the idea of me with anyone else makes him want to murder someone.”

“You should talk to him,” Sansa said.

“Did I not say that I was going to?” Catelyn asked. “And yet I wish he had known the truth without my having to explain it all.”

“Is that really fair? I mean, he can’t just know everything, right?”

Catelyn smiled at her daughter. “No, I suppose he can’t. It doesn’t mean I don’t think he should at times.” She actually laughed at Sansa’s puzzled look. “You’ll understand one day, sweetling. But remember this. Speak plainly to your husband, and ask that he speak plainly to you. What pain your father and I have caused each other has come largely from secrets kept or words not plainly spoken.”

Brynden, completely sated, had come off the nipple and lay warm and heavy against her chest, his little pink mouth slightly open in contented sleep. She smiled fondly at him and handed him to her daughter. “I don’t imagine he’ll give you much trouble,” she said.

“I hope Father doesn’t give you much trouble, either,” Sansa replied, and Catelyn stepped behind the tapestry, vividly remembering a little flame-haired girl, wondering how soon it would be before Arya and Bran startled her by suddenly growing up as Robb and Sansa had, and thanking the gods that Rickon and Brynden were still as young as they were.

The bed was empty when she emerged into Ned’s room from behind the armoire, and she had a completely irrational moment of panic. Suddenly, having gone more than twenty-four hours without seeing or touching him was worse than all the months without him before. She nearly cried out before she saw Ned sitting in a chair. “Should you be up, my lord?” she asked him, hoping that the hammering of heart was not louder than her voice.

“I cannot lie in bed forever, Lady Umber.” He actually stood then, bowing formally to her before sitting back down. “I assume your husband has shown you Lord Karstark’s letter. I fear evil things occur at the Wall, and I must recover myself and return there quickly.

“Stop calling me that.”

“What?” he asked, puzzled by her words.

“Lady Umber,” she said walking toward him. “Don’t ever call me Lady Umber again.”

“It is your name, my lady,” he said softly.

“No,” she said. “It isn’t.” She was standing directly in front of him then, and she dropped to her knees so that she was looking up into his face as he sat on the chair. “My name is Catelyn. Catelyn Tully Stark.”

“Cat . . .” he whispered hoarsely.

“Yes,” she said softly, reaching up to touch his face. “You may call me that if you like.”

He grabbed her wrists. “Cat . . .don’t.”

She refused to be pushed away, and instead pulled his head down to hers, pressing her lips against his. He groaned and returned the kiss, removing his hands from her wrists and putting them behind her head, twisting her hair round his fingers, then moving the hands down toward her waist to pull her body up and against his.

“Ned . . .” she whispered. “Do you still want me?”

“Gods, Cat! How can you even ask me that?” His eyes were barely focused as he pulled his lips away from her to answer the question, and she pressed her lips back to his before he had a chance to think and stop her.

 _He wants me,_ she thought. _Whatever else he thinks, he does still want me._ She pulled him to stand then, half holding him up as shaky as he was, and their hands were all over each other as if they couldn’t possibly touch enough. The laces on the front of her dress were still loose from nursing the baby, and as his hand found its way to her breast, she gasped at the contact. Then he had both her breasts free of the dress and his hand was replaced by his mouth. The heat of his lips and tongue on her nipple and the rasp of his beard against the soft skin of her breast filled her with heat. The sensation was nothing like the comforting warmth of her infant’s suckling. This was a raw need that literally made her feel she might burst into flame. He pressed against her and she could feel that his cock was hard.

“Oh, please, Ned,” she said. “Please.”She lowered one hand to stroke him through his breeches and suddenly he jumped.

“Gods!” he shouted, much too loudly.

“Shh!” she said, moving her hand to his mouth. “Someone will hear you if you shout like that.”

“Someone should hear me,” he declared, pushing himself away from her. He stood there, panting, smoke-grey eyes darkened with lust, and stared at her. She was vaguely aware that she stood panting as well, her hair in wild disarray and her breasts fully exposed. “Someone should stop me.”

“Stop you?” she said breathily. “I believe this is my doing, my lord.”

He shook his head. “You are upset. I shouldn’t forget myself.”

“No, you shouldn’t. I need my husband to remember himself.” She reached for him again, and he pulled away with a sound like a wounded man.

“Catelyn, stop. I will not dishonor you or Lord Umber in the man’s very own home. Please don’t make this harder than it already is. Go to your husband, my lady.”

“You want me to go to Jon like this?” she spat at him.

“No!” he growled, and the pain in his voice was so sharp that she instantly regretted her cruel taunt. He had not deserved that. “I don’t want you to go to him or any man, ever,” he went on. “But I have no right to want you for myself. You are not mine.” The grey eyes that bored into hers were actually wet with tears, and that startled her.

She sat down on the edge of the bed and began to relace her gown. “I am no one’s but yours,” she said quietly.

“Cat, please.”

“I will not touch you again. I promise. But you will listen to me, Eddard Stark.” She raised her eyes from the front of her gown to look at his face. “I will not leave this bed until you have listened to me.”

His breathing had slowed somewhat, and he looked at her face a long moment before nodding. “Very well, my lady, I will listen to you. But I would ask that you seat yourself in one of the chairs.”

“Ned . . .” she started in exasperation.

“I do not ask it for propriety’s sake, Cat!” he interrupted sharply. He then sighed deeply, and a tiny glint of humor sparked behind the pain in his grey eyes. “If you expect me to attend to your words, you do not want me looking at you on that bed.”

She offered him a tiny smile at that, and rose to take one of the chairs, careful to remain as far from him as she could. He sank down into his own chair then, and she realized his entire body was shaking. He still had far less strength than he needed to go anywhere.

“Everyone here at Last Hearth save the Greatjon, Smalljon, and Sansa believes me to be married to Lord Umber and Brynden to be his child.” She smiled again somewhat ruefully. “In truth, I believe some of the more astute members of the household suspect about Brynden, but fortunately, they are also among the most loyal to Jon, and will never question him about it.”

“I fear the boy will face a good many more questions as he grows, Catelyn,” Ned said gravely. “His face . . .”

“Is yours. I know. I watched your bastard grow up, Ned. I know the resemblance will likely only get stronger as each year passes.”

To his credit, he didn’t say anything about her mention of his bastard, although Catelyn thought she saw a look of incredible sadness in his eyes.

“I hope to be free of this sham before he is old enough that it becomes a problem,” she continued.

“What sham? Catelyn you make no sense. You are wed to the man. Sansa told me you wed in the godswood at Winterfell before the heart tree. In the old way.” She saw his fists clench as he said it and could have slapped Sansa for sharing that detail with him. Winterfell’s godswood was a sacred place to Ned. He had married her at the sept in Riverrun before the gods of her faith. To hear that she had married another man before the heart tree of the Starks . . .

“I am wed to you,” she said simply. “I will never wed anyone else.”

He put his face into his hands. “Even had you not wed Jon, I am sworn to the Night’s Watch. I took an oath . . .”

“To take no wife and father no children. Yes, I’ve heard it. But here I am. And Sansa and Brynden are in my chambers, Rickon is likely chasing Smalljon through the corridors with some sharp, pointed object, and the other three are in Winterfell. We’re all still here. Your saying a few words and wearing black clothing didn’t make us disappear.”

He looked up at her then and the pain and longing on his face shattered her heart. “We cannot change anything, Cat,” he said through gritted teeth. “I am no longer Lord of Winterfell and you are another man’s wife.”

“I am not Jon Umber’s wife!” She did not shout, but she definitely raised her voice. “How many times must I say it? Yes, we said some words in front of your white tree, and he draped me in that awful giant sigil of his, but it takes more than words and an ugly cloak to make a marriage legal and binding. You know that as well as I do, Eddard Stark.”

He stared at her, uncomprehending at first, and she watched his face change as he grasped the meaning of her words. “You mean that you . . .that you and he . . .”

“Never,” she said. “I have known no man but you. I meant the words I said in the sept at Riverrun, and I can keep a vow as well as you can.”

“Oh, Cat,” he said softly, and this time he came to her, moving slowly on his shaky legs. Yet when she stood to meet him, the arms that encircled her felt strong enough. He pulled her to the bed so that they could sit together, and she simply cried in his arms for what seemed like a very long time.

“I would never have you live a lie. You know that,” he whispered into her hair as her tears slowed. “You deserve so much more. You are made for love, Cat. You deserve to be held. To be cherished.”

She looked up at him, blue eyes only inches from grey. “Then hold me. Cherish me. Love me, Ned.”

He leaned toward her slightly and she could almost feel the brush of his lips on hers before he pulled back. “It’s no good, Cat,” he said roughly. “I belong to the Night’s Watch. Do you want me to bed you here and disappear again, leaving you with another bastard for Lord Umber to claim?”

She jerked back as if he had slapped her, and then she did slap him, feeling the sharp sting in her palm as it struck his face. “Don’t you dare call Brynden a bastard!” she hissed at him. “You have only one bastard, my lord, and he is not mine.”

“Catelyn . . .” he started.

“No, don’t ‘Catelyn’ me as if you are the voice of reason here. You are not. Joffrey put you on that Wall. Honor had nothing to do with it! And Joffrey will not always be king. Too many people are working against him. As for you, my lord, your son’s efforts on your behalf are tireless. Robb has so many plans in motion and so many people who . . .”

“Robb?” he interrupted. “Robb should do no such things. He has sworn fealty to Joffrey.”

At that, Catelyn stood up in exasperation and walked several paces from the bed before turning to face him again. “Yes,” she said. “Just as your father, your brother and you had all once sworn fealty to Aerys Targaryen. Didn’t stop you from rebelling against him after his crimes against your family, did it? Didn’t stop Robert Baratheon, Jon Arryn or my father, either. So is it only Robb who must honor an oath of fealty made under duress to a mad and evil king?”

Ned shook his head wearily. “It isn’t the same thing, Catelyn.”

“It’s exactly the same thing. Except that Joffrey isn’t even Robert’s son! So he has no right to demand anyone’s fealty in the first place!” She went to kneel in front of him once more, taking both of his hands in hers. “Ned,” she said urgently. “Please listen to me. Of course, Robb knows that this second marriage of mine is an illusion, as do Maege Mormont and Galbart Glover. We are reaching out in a number of directions in order to secure promises from other contenders for the throne that your false conviction for treason will not stand. We can get your title restored, my love! And when we do, we have sworn and sealed statements from Robb, Jon, Maege, and Galbart that this marriage was never real and that I was with child, your child, before it ever took place. Brynden’s beautiful Stark face will be nothing but a benefit then. He can be Brynden Stark, indeed, and we can all go home.”

She looked into the grey eyes she loved so much, waiting for his reply. She could see the love shining in those eyes and for a brief moment she thought she saw hope there as well, but she watched it die away, and her heart felt cold.

He took his hands from hers and briefly cradled her face before placing them in his own lap. “It cannot be, Cat. I said the words. Men of the Night’s Watch serve for life. I am no Oathbreaker.”

“Of course, you are not! You made that oath in fear of Sansa’s life! You cannot be held to it! You needn’t break it. We shall get you released from it!”

“I said the words,” he said stubbornly. “I knelt before a weirwood and spoke the words. I cannot simply unsay them, Catelyn. I believe in meaning what you say. I cannot take vows only to break them, even if I can’t believe them in my heart.”

“Liar!” she yelled at him, standing up and walking away from him. “You can break a vow, Eddard Stark,” she said through tears and clenched teeth. “As long as it’s only a vow made to me.”

His face went white with shock at her words. He stared at her silently for awhile. Finally, he whispered, “Catelyn . . .how can you say such a thing? You . . .you are . . .”

“The woman you lied to in a sept at Riverrun,” she interrupted coldly. “You made a vow there, Lord Stark, or have you forgotten that one. You said it was for life as well, you know. You spoke those very words-- ‘for all my life.’ I was there. I heard them. Of course, there was no heart tree, only the Seven. Is that why it didn’t count?”

He looked anguished, but she hardened her heart and continued. “For life, you said, and you put a babe in my belly and rode away to put another babe in another woman’s belly within a moon’s turn. Did you love her so much, Ned? So much that a vow to me could not possibly compete? Or was the vow to me so meaningless that any warm woman could be used to ease an ache in your cock?”

He gaped at her and moved his mouth as if to speak, but she did not allow him the time. “And don’t you dare tell me I am not to speak about Jon Snow’s mother! You keep telling me I’m not your wife, so you have no right to tell me what I may say to anyone.”

“This . . .this is nothing to do with Jon or his mother,” Ned finally got out. “But Catelyn, you are wrong. I have never loved a woman as I love you. I meant every word of our marriage vows, and I meant them more with every passing year.”

She actually laughed out loud then, even as tears streamed down her face. “Oh, really, my lord? ‘For life’ you said. Yet when they dressed you in those black clothes and forced you to say some other words, ‘for life’ suddenly didn’t mean anything anymore. Yet, you have the nerve to sit there and tell me that our vows meant more to you every passing year. You are a liar, Eddard Stark. If your vow to me meant anything at all, you would fight for it. You wouldn’t stake your honor on a forced oath made against your will and tell me to my face that the ‘for life’ part of that mockery of a vow abolishes beyond all reclamation the vow you made to me! You liar!”

She couldn’t speak after that. She could only stand there shaking and crying as he stared at her, shocked and speechless. Finally she heard him whisper. “Gods damn me. Gods damn me to the deepest pit in hell for an arrogant, blind fool.”

“You are a fool,” she managed to choke out then. “ A stubborn, honorable fool, and yet I’ve loved you all the while.” Her rage had abated some, and she continued in a more controlled voice, “I did forgive you the bastard, you know. Even if I never wanted him at Winterfell. I forgave you, and I thought perhaps that you had even come to love me as much as the woman you will not name. I had you, and she did not. I should be content with that. Then when you took the black, and you made it clear you intended to keep every word of that godsforsaken oath, I knew she had won in the end. I had you for a time, but you would forsake me to live out your days on the Wall with her son, leaving my sons and daughters fatherless.”

“Catelyn, I never intended . . .”

“I know that was not your intent. I only tell you how it feels, because it is a terrible thing, Ned, to know you are the one person in all the Seven Kingdoms to whom the honorable Eddard Stark is willing to make a vow, and then break it--not once, but twice, and forever.” Her voice sounded old and empty to her own ears. Her anger and grief both were spent. She felt drained, but could not rouse the energy to even walk to a chair and sit, so she simply stood there in the middle of the floor looking at him.

Slowly, he rose and came to her. She didn’t push him away, but she didn’t lean into his touch either as he reached to touch her face once more. She just stood there like a statue.

“You are right about some things, Catelyn,” he whispered. “Not about my feelings for you. Not at all about that. But you are right that I’ve been looking at this oath upside down.” He took a breath that sounded almost like a sob. “I have never made a vow more important than that I made to you, and once I failed you so miserably in King’s Landing, all I could think about was finding a way to protect you and the children. I felt I had broken my vow when I let our daughters fall into the hands of the Lannisters and then left you to pick up the pieces by getting myself sent to the Wall. I never imagined another way to set things right. I never saw things from your viewpoint until just now.”

She let herself hope ever so slightly. “And now?” she whispered, reaching her own hand up to cover the hand on her cheek.

“I would be your husband again, my lady, if you would still have me. I would like the chance to keep the most important vow I made.”

A tiny whimper escaped her lips and she put her arms around him. “I will have you, Ned. Old betrayals are done. If you tell me you mean to keep your vow to me now, I will believe you.”

To her dismay, he put his hands on her arms and stood her back away from him a bit. “I am glad of it, my lady, but if you will believe me, you must hear all the truth. For you are wrong about one thing, and the fault for that is mine.”

She frowned at his words. She had won him over. He had heard her words and understood them. They were going to get him freed from his bloody Night’s Watch oath, and she’d have her husband back. So why was he looking so serious and guilt-ridden still? “My lord?” she asked in a hesitant voice.

“I never broke my marriage vow to you, Catelyn,” he said simply. “I lied to you, but I never betrayed you with another woman.”

She stared at him. What did he mean? She hadn’t imagined his bastard all those years in Winterfell. He could hardly deny the boy who wore his face, who looked almost precisely like his trueborn son in the next room. “Ned,” she said. “Don’t. Please don’t try to . . .”

“Catelyn,” he said almost sharply. “You asked me to listen to you. I have.” He took her hands and led her to back to the bed, pulling her down to sit beside him once more. “Now I ask you to listen to me.”

Catelyn Stark ( _I will be Catelyn Stark again,_ she thought fiercely) nodded once, and looked into those grey eyes, steeling herself for whatever this man that she loved had to say to her.


	6. Eddard

She sat close beside him on the bed, this woman he loved so fiercely, her hands in his, and her blue eyes looking directly into his grey ones. He could see lingering traces of doubt and fear in those beautiful eyes, but her chin was raised and her expression set with determination to hear whatever he had to say to her. She was listening. And he didn’t even know how to begin.

He swallowed hard and closed his eyes, seeing her as she had been only moments before as she hurled those terrible words at him. _You can break a vow, Eddard Stark. As long as it’s only a vow made to me._ Her words echoed again and again in his mind as he saw her perfect face twisted with more grief and anger than he’d ever known she could feel.

 _I do not deserve her,_ he thought, and even as the thought formed itself in his mind, he realized the truth of it. He’d always felt that way. She had been meant for Brandon, not for him. Never for him. He’d offered himself in his brother’s stead and she’d dutifully wed him in spite of the disappointment he’d seen in her eyes when she first saw him. She’d given him her maidenhead, given him a son, given him her best efforts at being his lady wife and the Lady of Winterfell, and he’d repaid her with a lie and a bastard. _I don’t deserve her._ And then, after a time, she‘d loved him anyway. He knew she loved him, although he couldn’t fathom why. And he’d ridden away to King’s Landing as their son lay broken in his bed, and she wept bitter tears at his departure. Even when she’d rushed to his side in King’s Landing, her maimed hands still bandaged, to warn him of danger, he hadn’t told her all he should have. He could never tell her all he felt, for he didn’t deserve her. Then he’d lost their daughters, and left it to her and their barely grown son to demand justice and march to his defense. He’d failed them all, and when offered the chance to make them safe once more, he’d taken it. The price had been immeasurably high, costing him his home and family, costing him her. But none of it had been meant for him in the first place. _I don’t deserve her._ Why shouldn’t he be forced to give her up? He had failed her, failed all of them miserably, and so he willingly accepted the punishment required. _Gods!_ he thought now. _That’s all I saw. I punished myself for my failures, for my lies, for not being Brandon. I couldn’t even see how I punished her. How I hurt her. That I made her think I didn’t . . ._

“My lord?” she said softly. He didn’t know how long he’d been silent, and he opened his eyes to see her still sitting there right beside him, a brave expression still fixed in place, but eyes that were windows into her very heart, still showing him all the love and pain she’d laid bare for him, shattering his defenses so completely.

“I don’t deserve you,” he blurted out.

She bit her lip, looking troubled and unsure how to respond. Before she could speak, he continued, “But I want you anyway. I always have. And I have ever felt it wrong somehow to want so much what should not be mine.”

“I am yours,” she said simply.

“You were never meant to be.” The words were almost inaudible, but she heard them. He felt her hands tighten on his and saw her eyes widen slightly as she realized his meaning.

“Brandon,” she said incredulously. “You speak of Brandon. Ned, you are my husband, and I want no other. I should hope I’ve made that abundantly clear to you.”

He nodded slowly. “Yet, you wanted him then.” He squeezed her hands as he she began to protest. “I mean no reproach, Cat. I wanted him, too. I wanted my father and brother alive much more than I wanted to wed a girl I didn’t know, regardless of how beautiful I found her to be.”

“Did . . .did you love another then? Did you have to leave her and come to me?” Her voice trembled as she asked it, and he hated himself for feeding her uncertainty of him all these years.

“No,” he said firmly. “There was no one. I did love Brandon, though. And I could not escape the thought of him as I stood beside you in your sept.” He swallowed, “I did mean every word I said to you there, Catelyn. I have never taken any vow more seriously. Yet, I could not help but feel I was stealing my brother’s bride as I had already stolen his title. You called me a liar, and gods know I am that, but on that day, I felt more like a thief.”

“You stole nothing!” she said vehemently. “Brandon was dead. Neither of us had any control over that! Should we refuse to love each other because I was once betrothed to your brother? I had no more choice in that than I did in my marriage to you. It was all the same then. I was marrying Winterfell.”

“Now who lies, my lady? I know you cared for him. You looked for him in my face and did not find him there.”

Catelyn sighed deeply. “I was a girl. I had been promised to Brandon Stark since I was twelve years old, and he had visited often enough that I’d grown used to him. I liked his face. I liked his laugh. I liked the way he made me laugh.” Her cheeks flushed slightly then. “And I confess I liked it when he stopped looking at me like a little girl he was required to amuse, and instead saw a maiden he wanted to kiss.”

Ned realized she must have seen his visceral reaction to that statement on his face, for she rolled her eyes at him. “Eddard Stark. I’d never even met you, and I did think that he was the man whose bed I would one day share. If you tell me you were never curious about what goes on between a man and woman long before you ever wed me, I’ll call you out as a liar again, my lord.”

Ned allowed the corners of his mouth to turn up slightly at that and saw her smile in return, and they both breathed more easily in that brief moment of levity.

Quickly, though, her expression turned serious again. “But I never loved him. I didn’t even know what love was until I lived with you at Winterfell. What I found in our marriage, my love . . .” She seemed unable to adequately express her thought, letting the sentence hang unfinished, just looking at him. “I want no one else, Ned. How often will you make me repeat it?”

“I believe you, Cat.” He let go of her hands to caress her face softly. He had no desire to tear her clothes from her and possess her as he had earlier. That desperate need had been replaced by an equally strong desire to cradle her gently and protect her from harm, as if she were something infinitely precious and fragile that he had to keep from breaking. He swallowed hard, realizing that his own actions had broken her more than anything else had, and that he risked breaking her more with what he still had to say. “I believe you,” he repeated, “But I still find myself wondering what I have done to deserve it. I earned nothing--not you, not Winterfell, not our beautiful children. I received all this happiness only because Brandon died.”

“You really are a fool, Eddard Stark,” she said then. “What did Brandon do to deserve it? He was born first. My, what a proud accomplishment.” He started reflexively to defend his brother, but she put a hand on his mouth. “I don’t mean to belittle Brandon, but I refuse to let you belittle yourself. You earned the loyalty and respect of every one of your bannermen, Ned. It wasn’t just given to you. And as for earning my love . . . who gave me the warmest rooms in his castle, built me a sept, covers me with furs if I shiver once, listens when I speak, holds me when I cry, loves our children as I do, and always looks at me as if I am beautiful?”

“You are beautiful,” he responded.

“You’ve done all those things and more. Don’t tell me you don’t deserve my love. It’s insulting.”

 _Insulting. Gods know I’ve been that to you._ Ned took a deep breath. “I also welcomed you to our home by greeting you with a bastard babe to be raised with our own children, did I not?”

She went very still. “I told you I forgave you,” she said after a moment.

“But I never asked for your forgiveness, did I, Cat? I couldn’t ask for what I didn’t deserve.”

She looked at him for a long time. “Was that it, then?” she asked after a long while. “Guilt? Were you so guilty over wedding and bedding your brother’s bride that you had to seek absolution in another woman’s bed?”

“No!” he exclaimed, startled by the suggestion. “Gods, Cat, no! I would never do that!”

“Then tell me what you did do, Ned, if you mean to tell me anything at all. You tell me you never betrayed me with another woman when I have seen Jon Snow nearly every day of his life until he left for the Wall. You tell me you loved no one else when we wed. Then you tell me how you thought of Brandon on our wedding day, but you did not bed another for guilt.” Her voice had started rising, and Ned feared he had taken far too long in his telling as her calm demeanor began to crack. “Were you drunk? Were you lonely? Did you fall in love after you left me?”

She looked at him desperately, and he found himself unable to form the words to answer her. He’d found lying to her increasingly difficult as the years passed, and now he found telling her the truth equally, if not more, difficult. _What if this is the thing she cannot forgive? I have only just allowed myself the possibility of having her back. Can I lose her again so quickly?_ He honestly didn’t think he could survive that.

After a very long and very silent few seconds, she dropped her head. “Don’t tell me then,” she said. “I have survived fifteen years without knowing a thing about the woman, and I can likely survive more.” She sounded tired and drained. “But don’t ever speak of it to me again unless you mean to tell me, Ned. I cannot do this again. It hurts.”

 _It hurts._ She didn’t throw the words at him. He heard no accusation in her voice. She simply spoke the truth. She’d been speaking truths to him since she’d walked in and demanded that he call her by her name. She’d been hurt, angry, and terrified, but she’d done it anyway, in spite of his refusal to hear and accept. Now she gave him the opportunity to once again refuse to do the same for her. He realized a large part of him wanted to take the escape she offered, and it shamed him. He was not a craven man, and he knew that to give her less than she had given him now was worse than craven.

“Jon is not my son,” he said suddenly. As her face began to harden into something cold and angry, he quickly added. “He is my blood, just as I have said, but he is not my child. He is my sister Lyanna’s son.” He’d actually said it. He’d said it out loud for the first time since that cold storeroom in the tunnels at the Wall. He and Jon had no time or privacy on that last ranging during which to speak of such matters, and neither of them had mentioned it again. And now Jon . . . “And he is likely dead,” he added softly, speaking those words out loud for the first time ever and feeling them rip his heart into pieces.

Catelyn was silent, her usually expressive face almost completely blank and rather paler than it had been moments before. “Dead,” she finally said, repeating his last word in a dull, flat voice. “How?”

“He was on the ranging with us and was sent out with a scouting party to the Skirling Pass. None of them returned. Knowing now what creatures dwell beyond the Wall . . .I have little hope they survived.” She said nothing further, but continued to stare at him with that blank expression. “Cat? Did you hear what I said?” he asked gently.

“I heard you,” she said softly. “If this is true, why . . .”

“It is true,” he interrupted. “Catelyn, I swear to you, Jon is Lyanna’s child. I have fathered no children but ours. I have been with no one but you since the day we wed.” He needed her to hear that, to know that.

She nodded slowly. “If this is true,” she repeated, “Why tell me now?”

She remained outwardly calm, but Ned heard the slight waver in her voice. “Because . . .there is no more reason for anything but truth between us,” he told her.

Now those blue eyes flashed with something that looked very like anger, and her voice was dangerously low as she replied, “But there was reason, my lord? You had reason to lie to me throughout our marriage and make me believe you not only fathered a bastard, but cared so much for his mother that you forbade me to even ask her name? Why, my lord? What crime did I commit that you sought to wound me so?” Her voice became less controlled with every question she flung at him, and he realized she was struggling not to cry.

“Nothing!” he said desperately, grabbing her arms. “You did nothing, ever. And I never sought to wound you. I never wanted that, I swear.”

“Let go of me.” She jerked from his grasp and stood to walk as far from the bed as she could get before turning around. “Why, then?” she demanded. “Why tell such a terrible lie? Was protecting your dead sister’s honor truly more important than preserving your own? Or mine? Did you believe me so heartless I’d seek to cast out a parentless child unless you stayed my hand by claiming it as your own? Why, Ned?” The last two words were very nearly shouted, and Ned wondered how long the passage was and how thick the walls were that separated them from whoever minded Brynden in Catelyn’s room.

“Catelyn,” he said, as softly and evenly as he could manage with his pounding heart and racing thoughts. “It was all for Jon’s protection. No other reason.”

“Protection?” she asked wildly. “From what? From me? Ned, did you honestly think I would harm your nephew?”

“ No! Gods, Cat, just listen to me, please. From Robert. I had to protect him from Robert.”

That shocked her into a momentary silence. “From Robert?” she finally asked, much more quietly. “Ned, Robert Baratheon was your closest friend. And he loved Lyanna. My gods, he almost dumped Cersei Lannister into the snow in his hurry to get down to the crypts and see her tomb. How could he have ever harmed her child?”

“Dragonspawn,” Ned muttered.

“What?”

He looked at his wife, willing her to understand how things had been all those years ago. “You do realize who fathered Jon, don’t you?”

She hadn’t even thought about it. He could tell it as her face first went blank and then registered comprehension. “Jon is Rhaegar Targaryen’s child?” she said, a horrified expression on her face. “Born of rape?”

“No,” he said quickly, realizing the source of her horror. “I mean yes, he is Rhaegar’s, but it was not rape.” He looked down and closed his eyes briefly before turning his gaze back to her. “She went with him, Cat. It was her choice as much as his.”

“Oh, Ned,” she said, and he knew she was remembering Brandon’s heated accusation of Rhaegar, Aerys’s murder of Brandon and his father, Robert’s rage, and the war that had been sparked by the crown prince’s crime against Lyanna Stark. The crime that, in truth, had been as much hers as his. “So many lives,” she whispered. “So much grief.”

He nodded. Catelyn would never have done such a thing, and he knew she could barely comprehend anyone behaving as rashly as Lyanna and Rhaegar had. As if in affirmation of his thoughts, she said bitterly, “The fools. How could they not see where such folly would lead?”

“They knew only that they loved each other,” Ned said quietly.

“They barely knew each other,” Catelyn countered. “And she was just a girl who knew nothing of love. I love you.” That was not something Ned had expected to hear at the moment, but she wasn’t finished. “Do you think I didn’t want to run away with you that night in Winterfell? Have you any idea how badly I longed to beg you to flee with me to Essos or anywhere we could be together beyond the reach of the Lannisters? But our children would have paid the price for our selfishness as your father and brother paid for your sister’s and Rhaegar’s. And had we taken them all away with us, we’d have left Winterfell without a Stark, and the Lannisters would have caused the whole North to suffer for us. So I did not speak of it. And you would not have gone even had I begged you.”

“She was young, Cat. She didn’t know,” Ned said sadly.

“She didn’t know? Or she simply chose not to think too long about it?”

Ned shook his head slowly. “I don’t know. She was who she was, and she did what she did, and died for it. Along with many others. But she was my sister, Cat. I was with her as she died, but you knew that much. I told you she lived only a short time after I found her and that is true.”

“It was childbirth that killed her then, rather than a fever?” Catelyn asked quietly.

He shrugged his shoulders slightly. “She did have a fever,” he said. “She was burning up. Yet, I think it was not long after Jon’s birth. And there was blood. So much blood.” He closed his eyes against the memory. “Promise me, Ned” he whispered, and then looked back up at his wife. “That is what she kept saying. She made me promise I would keep her child safe. So I promised her.”

“And that promise required you to claim him as your bastard? To humiliate me and make me feel unwanted in my own home?” The words were spoken softly enough, but her voice was cold as a northern wind.

He wished she would sit down. He felt too weak to rise from the bed and go to her. He was getting rather dizzy just sitting there. Yet, she stood there looking both shattered and frozen, and he longed to take her in his arms and hold her and somehow keep her whole and warm. He continued to look directly into her blue eyes. “I had to protect him, Cat, and I could think of no other way. I never meant to hurt you.”

Those blue eyes blazed again, “Well you did hurt me, Eddard Stark, and don’t tell me you didn’t know that.” While her words slashed into his very soul, he thought he preferred the heat of her anger to her icy reserve of a moment ago.

“I did know, my lady. And I am sorry.”

“Sorry.” The word was almost a laugh, although he’d never heard a less joyful sound. After a moment, she whispered, “You really think Robert would have had him killed? Like Elia Martell’s children?”

He remembered well when he had told her about seeing the bodies of Rhaenys and Aegon Targaryen. He had been awakened by terrible nightmares frequently after Robert’s Rebellion. He’d sit up in bed, heart pounding and bathed in cold sweat. She hadn’t known about his dreams their entire first year together at Winterfell as he never spent a full night in her chambers, but that had changed as they slowly found themselves drawn closer to each other. By the time he slept most nights beside her, the dreams had become less frequent, but when they came, he would wake to find himself held in her arms while she murmured soft words of comfort to him. Not once did she ask what he dreamed, and he never told her. Then he dreamed one night of Robert looking upon the infant Aegon’s bloody and battered corpse with a grim and satisfied expression, and woke to find his head cradled against Catelyn’s rounded belly with Sansa pressing against him from inside it. He had grabbed onto her tightly, pressing his face against their unborn babe, still with little Aegon’s crushed face in his vision. His breath had come in great gasps for a long while until she’d finally cried out, “What is it, my love? What troubles you so?” And when he had calmed, he told her. He told her everything about that day in King’s Landing.

Thinking back on that now, he wondered if things would have been better had he gone on talking then, and told her of all his nightmares, including the truth of the Tower of Joy. “Yes,” he said now. “I think he would have.”

She was silent for what seemed a long while. “You should have told me,” she said finally.

“I barely knew you, Catelyn,” he said. “I told no one. Howland Reed knows because he was with me. I told Jon the truth before we went on that last ranging. I have not spoken it to anyone else until now.”

“You barely knew me when you first brought him to Winterfell,” she said. “What of the next year? Or the year after that? Or after I bore you two daughters and then two more sons?” Her voice started rising again. “Or after any of the times you stood by while men japed about your bastard in my presence? Or the times I removed myself from a room and you damned well knew the reason?” She was shaking now, much as she had done after confronting him about his seeming disregard for their marriage vow. “You cannot say you didn’t know me well by then, my lord. You can only say you did not trust me, but I should have realized how little you trust me when I saw how quickly you believed I’d spread my legs for Jon Umber as soon as you rode away from Winterfell!”

She collapsed onto the floor where she stood, covering her face with her hands as she sobbed, and Ned felt the blood drain from his own face. “Catelyn,” he said desperately. “Cat . . .” He didn’t know what to say. _Gods! She is the one person I_ _trust most in all the world! How do I make her understand?_ She sat crying in the floor across the room from him, but it felt as if she were across the sea. He couldn’t find words to reach her.

He had to get to her. If he couldn’t speak, perhaps he could reach her with a touch. They had so often found their way to each other by touching when words failed them. Heart pounding, he stood up and walked toward her. His head swam and the room lurched in front of him. He saw her tearstained face turn up toward him, Tully blue eyes wide with alarm, and then he knew no more.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

“Ahhh!” Ned mumbled, grimacing in pain as he started to move his head.

“Be still, Lord Stark,” came a woman’s voice, vaguely familiar. “You’ve got a nasty lump on your head from your fall.”

 _Fall. When did I fall?_ He realized he was lying in a bed and he consciously worked at opening his eyes, blinking furiously in the candlelight.

“Ah, you are back with us then,” the woman said, moving to bend down over him. “Try to be still.”

Still blinking, he managed to focus his eyes on her. She was old, her face almost as lined as Old Nan’s, and her grey hair was pulled back in a single braid. “Marta,” he said hoarsely, as his name came to her. She was Catelyn’s maid. _Catelyn!_ Memory returned in a rush. _Oh, gods, Catelyn!_ Ignoring the pain in his head, he attempted to sit up, but the old woman held him down easily.

“You aren’t strong enough,” she admonished him. “Lady Umber should have never have let you out of bed in the first place.”

“Where is she? Cat . . .Lady Umber? Where is she, Marta?” He realized he sounded desperate and tried to calm his voice. “She was here when I fell, was she not? I had been up before she came to see to me, and I fear I was quite resistant to her efforts to get me back to my bed.”

The old woman actually snorted at that. “Resistant to my lady getting you to bed, my lord? If you say so.” Amusement flickered in her eyes. “She was here all right. Screamed loud enough to bring half the castle. She couldn’t get you to wake, and we couldn’t get her to let go of you or to stop crying. Lord Umber finally had to carry her to her chamber.” She stopped and looked at him pointedly. “Through the corridor, rather than the hidden passage.”

“Is she well, Marta?” He kept his face impassive, but his thoughts raced, and his heart ached for what he had done to her. “I need to see her.” He realized he shouldn’t say that, but his need for Catelyn at the moment overwhelmed all other concerns.

“No,” the woman said, almost sternly, and Ned wasn’t sure to which of his inquiries she responded. She sighed heavily and sat down in a chair beside the bed. “She will be well enough, I suppose, but you cannot see her now.”

“I . .”

“She’s asleep, for one thing,” Marta said. “Lord Umber finally got her to take some dreamwine. She wouldn’t say much of anything except that she had to get back here . . .to you. She only relented when Lady Sansa said she’d come and stay with you.”

“Sansa? Where is she?” Ned asked.

“With her mother. The poor child’s been back and forth all night, not knowing which parent to worry most about.” Marta shook her head.

“Is it morning?” he asked.

“Not quite. It’s the hour of the wolf, my lord, when all is darkest just before the morn.”

 _When all is darkest. Never a truer word spoken,_ Ned thought grimly. He only hoped that light would follow. He put a hand gingerly to the back of his head and found a very tender swelling there, but no blood. “I need to know precisely what occurred after I fainted, Marta.” He looked carefully at the woman. She obviously knew who he was, and he suspected she knew more of the situation here than she could speak about. “We need to protect them,” he said softly.

Marta nodded. “Lady Umber did scream loudly enough to be heard through most of the castle. Fortunately, the third man to arrive was Smalljon Umber, and he quickly sent the other two for his lord father and the maester, saying he had the situation here under control. Neither of those two men know you are, but Lady Sansa was here, too, having come through the passage at her mother‘s scream, and they saw her as well. I came next, and the Smalljon had me send away anyone else who came. He got you into the bed, and Lady Umber was quieter then, but she kept talking to you and touching your face, trying to get you to wake. She only stopped when Lord Umber and the maester arrived, stepping back to let Maester Clemmon have a look at you. Once he said you’d taken no lasting harm, she sort of collapsed, but still refused to go back to her own room, so Lord Umber picked her up and carried her there.”

Ned was silent for a long time, wondering if he had destroyed the safe haven Catelyn had constructed for Brynden and herself here at Last Hearth. “What is being said in the castle?” he finally asked softly. His head throbbed so badly, it was difficult to think. Yet he had to know everything in order to protect his family as best he could.

“Everyone knows that Lady Umber has taken a personal hand in nursing you back to health, my lord. As her former husband was sent to the Watch, it seems only fitting she would care about the welfare of a wounded black brother, and that is the sentiment that Lord Umber and his son have been quietly promoting since your arrival.”

“Jon would have his household think that her thoughts dwell on me?” Ned asked, somewhat startled.

Marta actually laughed. “Lord Umber cannot prevent anyone from knowing that. Lady Umber is gracious and kind, my lord. But she is also very sad, and has been so since she arrived here. Everyone in the North knows that Lord Stark was sent to the Wall unjustly. Why shouldn’t she grieve the loss of a husband? If she had been widowed, and then given again in marriage to solidify her House’s position, who would fault her if she still thought fondly of the man she lost?” Marta shook her head. “No one here believes Lady Umber to have wed our lord for love. But what highborn marriages are made for love, my lord? I have seen none and I have lived a long time. She has been devoted to Lord Umber, and he is obviously besotted by her, so her devotion to the care of a man of the Night’s Watch out of respect and affection for her former lord strikes no one as wrong.”

 _She is also very sad._ He thought of his days and nights at the Wall, the depth of the grief he could never shake regardless of the work he had to do or the company of his brothers. The image of Catelyn spending her days at Last Hearth in that same deep pit broke his heart all over again. He forced his mind back to the current situation. “But tonight?” he pressed.

“One problem tonight is that while everyone saw Lady Umber and her daughter leave this room, no one saw them come in. And there are others besides myself who know at least some of the many passages in this castle.” She smiled. “Lady Sansa and the Smalljon have already attempted to address that by stating that he accompanied both of them to this room earlier tonight. Lady Sansa wishes to have her lordly brother send material aid to the Wall and had begged leave of her mother to come and discuss with you what the greatest needs of the men there might be. As to no one seeing them arrive, well, your door had not been guarded, and Smalljon himself claimed to have brought them. None would call him liar.”

She looked at him then, as if wondering how much more to say. “The larger problem is Lady Umber’s state when the men arrived. She was quite hysterical, my lord. I have talked with several people tonight about how women’s emotions tend to become overwrought easily in the early weeks and months after childbirth, and simply seeing you fall when you attempted to stand, and then being unable to rouse you probably terrified her . . .but there is another story going round. Some fear you tried to attack her or Lady Sansa, and she was forced to defend herself. People know what sort of men get sent to the Wall, my lord. I fear there will be a good deal more uneasiness about your presence here now.” She shook her head slowly. “There are guards outside your door, now, Lord Stark,” she said softly. “There are brash men here in Last Hearth, and Lord Umber fears somewhat for your safety while things are so . . .unsettled. Remember that if you should speak of anything you would not have heard by others.”

“My safety?” he said, as he attempted to take in all she had said. “What of Catelyn’s? I would not have her and the babe unprotected.”

“They are safe enough,” Marta said mildly. “Lord Umber has not left her chamber at all tonight.”

Ned knew he had no right to be angry at that. He knew the truth of matters between Jon and Catelyn and should feel nothing but gratitude toward the man. Yet, his jaw clenched all the same.

The slight twitch of Marta’s mouth told him she had noticed. “I think you will do well enough without me for a bit, my lord. I was told to get the maester as soon as you woke, no matter the hour.”

Without waiting for his leave, she turned and left the chamber by the door into the corridor. She said something as she exited, and he heard a man’s voice reply. He did indeed have guards. As he closed his eyes to wait for the maester, something Marta had said came back to him. _He is obviously besotted with her._ Involuntarily, his fists clenched, and Ned Stark lay in the bed trying very hard not to resent the man who was protecting his wife.

He slept most of the following day. Maester Clemmon had deemed it safe to give him a small dose of milk of poppy for the pain in his head, and he drifted in and out, drinking what liquids he was offered by Marta and allowing himself to be fed. Sansa came once, looking tired and tense, but relieved to see him alive. He must have truly looked dead after he fainted.

“How is your mother?” he asked her.

“She is upset. She wants to come see you, but Lord Umber says it isn’t a good idea just yet. I will tell her you are fine.” Her voice sounded angry.”

“Sansa . . .” he started.

“What did you say to her?” she snapped at him, keeping her voice at a whisper. “She won’t tell me. She’ll barely speak, but I know you must have said something awful. She’s upset by more than your fall. What is going on between you?”

“I . . .” He shook his head helplessly. “Please tell her I want to see her, and if I could get out of this bed, I would come to her. Jon Umber and his good ideas be damned. I need to speak with her.”

She bit her lip. “Well, I won’t tell her all that, but I will tell her you are as anxious to see her as she is you.”

She had left after that, quietly slipping back into the passageway behind the armoire. Marta, who had stepped outside to chat with the guards while Sansa was there returned a short time later, and Ned fell back asleep.

When he next awoke the shadows on the wall opposite the windows told him it was near sunset, and he was startled to see Jon Umber sitting in a chair across the room looking at him.

“Jon,” he said.

“My lord,” Umber replied. “I am glad you did not do yourself any more serious injury.” His voice was cool.

“I . . .thank you, Jon,” he sighed. “Is Catelyn well?”

It was the first time he had called her by her given name when speaking to Lord Umber since he’d initially awakened at Last Hearth, and the man noticed. With a slight lift of one eyebrow, he replied, “Your lady wife is as well as can be expected given the events of last night.”

 _What events does he mean?_ Ned thought. _How much has she told him?_ “My lady wife,” he repeated softly. She had stated emphatically enough that she had wished still to be his wife, and he had told her he would be her husband. Of course, that was before he’d told her other things. “What you have done for her. For Brynden. I cannot ever repay such generosity.”

“You needn’t try. The Lady of Winterfell needed my assistance, and I am pledged to Winterfell and House Stark, am I not? I will serve the Lady Catelyn however she may need me to. The question, my lord, is what will you do for her?”

The man’s words were courteous enough, but Ned could hear the challenge in them. “What do you mean, Lord Umber?” he asked.

“Will you fight the Lannisters? Fight your unjust conviction? Fight for Catelyn and your children and your title? Or do you still intend to go back to your Wall and live out your life as a crow?” Umber was angry at him, Ned realized. He was angry on Catelyn’s behalf, just as Sansa had been.

He fought down the irrational burst of jealousy over the man feeling anything on Catelyn’s behalf, and answered as calmly as he could. “She did not tell you of our conversation?”

“She hasn’t told me a damn thing. She was far too distraught over your nearly killing yourself in front of her. What were you thinking, man?” His booming voice naturally carried, and as he grew louder, Ned became concerned about the guards outside and looked toward the door. The Greatjon saw the direction of his gaze and continued more quietly. “You are far from well yet, my lord, though I know you would have it otherwise.”

Ned nodded. “I told her I would be her husband, Jon,” he said quietly. “I will fight for Winterfell and the North and all that we have lost. But we must go carefully, here. And I believe that in the short term, I must return to the Wall. My presence here puts all you have done at risk of exposure. And that puts her and Brynden in danger. I cannot have that.”

Jon Umber nodded. “But you can’t go to the Wall half dead, my lord. Last night should have convinced you of that, at least.”

“I can’t stay here much longer after last night, either,” Ned replied. “We need to write to the Wall. We need . . .”

“Done,” Umber said, and Ned looked at him sharply. “Well, we had discussed it after Karstark’s letter. I sent a raven this morning to Castle Black informing them I had an injured brother who’d been found attempting to make his way back to Castle Black after an attack by fell creatures. I gave a few details about that battle you told us about so they’d know I wrote truly. If any survived that battle and returned to give their tale.”

“They must have,” Ned said. "Those who left the Fist while we tried to hold it. Surely, some of them survived.”

“I had your daughter add a bit at the end,” Jon said softly. “She asked after the welfare of her father and half-brother.”

Ned looked up at that.

“Well, if your daughter, who is in Last Hearth, is asking about you at the Wall, it makes it much less likely that you’re here, doesn’t it? As for your bastard, Catelyn did tell me you said he’d gone missing on the ranging. You might want news of him, and it did not seem unreasonable that his sister would ask after him. They were raised together at Winterfell, were they not?”

“They were,” Ned said softly. “I thought you said she hadn’t told you anything.”

“She didn’t, really. Only that she’d told you how things stand with us. She and I, I mean,” he said uncomfortably. Quickly moving from that topic, he continued, “And she asked if I could inquire about your boy. Said you were worried for him.”

Even lying nearly flat in the bed, Ned felt dizzy at that. _Catelyn had asked Umber to find out about Jon for him? After what she’d said to him last_ _night? After what he’d done to her?_ “I thank you,” he said roughly, unable to say more.

“Thank her,” Umber said flatly. “Thank her for everything that’s been done, Lord Stark. She and that son of yours who sits in your seat at Winterfell have never forgotten who and where you are.”

Ned nodded, and the Greatjon stared at him for a moment before adding, “May I speak freely, my lord?”

“I wish you would,” Ned replied.

“When we were called to Winterfell--Galbart, Lady Maege, and I--and we sat in your solar listening to your wife explain her dilemma and her plan, I could hardly believe my ears. This lovely highborn lady spoke to us of things so personal and private, she should never have had to share them. She told us she was with child from your visit to Winterfell, and that she feared her child would be named a bastard. She wouldn’t have that. Nor would she have you endangered in any way. So she was determined to wed quickly, and just as determined she would never take another man into her bed. She told us all these things without one hesitation or any hint of shame. She then suffered through a wedding that I know was torture for her without once losing her composure. She left her home, she left her children, and she came here and put on a brave face every day when I could see how she was dying inside. I have come to know your lady wife quite well, my lord, and I know one thing above all.”

He paused then, and Ned asked him softly, “What is that, Jon?”

Umber met his eyes steadily. “She loves you, Ned. And she has ever believed that she is right to do so. Whatever she has done, she let nothing make her feel ashamed of loving you. Until you came here with your talk of the Night’s Watch and oaths, and you made her feel that you were somehow ashamed of loving her.”

The shame Ned felt at those words almost overwhelmed him, and it was all he could do to continue to meet Lord Umber’s gaze. “I am not ashamed of loving Catelyn,” he said softly, but firmly. “She is my wife. As soon as it is safe for her and everyone else, I will proclaim that to all Seven Kingdoms, and the Others take anyone who dares to defy me on it.”

Umber nodded. “Good,” he said, rising from his chair. “She wishes to speak to you, so I will send her here tonight. Your guards tonight are Edd Woodheart, who has confessed to me he already knows who you are, and Gil Brock, who’s deaf as a post. Neither will disturb you.” He rose and walked toward the door, turning back just before he reached it to look at Ned thoughtfully once more.

“Lady Catelyn is remarkable, my lord. I don’t know that you realize how truly fortunate you are in her.”

“I assure you, Lord Umber, that I do.”

The huge man nodded again, the thoughtful expression on his face was not one Ned was used to seeing there. “See that she knows that, Lord Stark. She deserves it.”

As Umber left the room, Ned knew the man had the right of it. He had to make Catelyn see what she meant to him in spite of all his lies and mistakes. He couldn’t begin to right any of the wrongs in the North without her beside him. Thinking of his friend’s demeanor as he spoke of Catelyn, he realized that Marta had the right of it, too. Jon Umber was in love with his wife.

It was well past dark when she slipped into his room, but he was awake. Marta had left him propped up on pillows with enough candles burning to see fairly well. The woman had not mentioned Catelyn again, but Ned was fairly certain she fully expected Catelyn would be coming to his room because she had excused herself soon after helping him eat his evening meal.

“Ned?” Catelyn whispered as she came around the armoire.

“I’m here, Cat,” he said softly. “And I am very glad to see you.” He was. She wore a fur robe, likely over her nightshift, and her hair hung loose down her back and over her shoulders. The candlelight turned the auburn waves to flame. He couldn’t stop staring at her.

She moved closer to the bed, but stopped just out of his reach. “I thought you were dead,” she said. “I couldn’t catch you. The sound when your head hit . . .” Her voice caught, and she bit her lip.

“I am fine, Cat. I have taken worse knocks. And it was my own fault, my lady. You are not to blame.” She stood there, looking at him with tears shining in her eyes, and he added softly. “You are not to blame for any of it.”

“That is not true,” she said softly. “Many things led us to this place, my lord, and I carry my share of the blame for them. Perhaps you would never have been arrested had I not encouraged you to trust Littlefinger.”

Ned started to protest, but she held up her hand. “We both have our lists of failures and mistakes, Ned. I know that full well and so do you. There is no need to discuss them now.”

He swallowed. “As you wish, my lady.”

As he struggled to find more words, she spoke again. “I would like to know why it is you do not trust me.”

“I do trust you, Catelyn! There is no one I trust more. You must believe me!”

“Why must I believe you? With all evidence to the contrary?”

Her voice had remained soft and even since she’d entered the room except when she’d spoken of his fall, and he desperately sought a way to break through her wall of calm reserve. “Come here, Cat,” he said, patting the bed beside him.

“No. Tell me why you don’t trust me.”

“I cannot tell you the why of something that isn’t true. I . . .I will try to tell you why I kept the truth of Jon’s parentage from you all these years, but you have to stop saying that I don’t trust you.” He looked directly into her eyes. She’d always been able to read more in his face than he meant to show. He hoped she could do that now, and he prayed to the gods that his face would tell her what his words didn’t seem able to. “Please, Cat,” he said. “Come and sit where I can talk with you more easily.”

She hesitated only a moment before she gave a small nod and came to sit on the very edge of his bed. He wanted to reach out and touch her, but thought perhaps he should not, so he clasped his hands together, the missing finger on his left making his grip feel wrong. “When I made the decision to keep Jon’s identity a secret, I knew it had to be complete. I didn’t even tell Benjen.” She caught her breath a bit at that, but did not speak. “I saw nothing of Rhaegar Targaryen in him, and I knew he could easily pass as my own.” He looked up at her apologetically. “I had no idea then just how much he would resemble me as he grew. Nor how much that would pain you, but I know it did, and I am sorry for it.”

She only continued to look at him without speaking, so he went on, “It wasn’t only fear for Jon that kept me silent, but fear for you and for Robb. I harbored a Targaryen, a potential claimant to Robert’s throne.”

“A bastard,” she said shortly.

Ned shrugged. “Perhaps. Lya was out of her head a good bit of the short time I had with her, but she did keep saying that Jon was Rhaegar’s heir. How that could be possible when the man had a wife and two trueborn children, I do not know. But there were three members of the kingsguard there. I believe that meant something.” He shook his head sadly. “Of course, they were all dead by the time I found Lyanna and Jon so I couldn’t very well ask them about it. But it doesn’t matter in the end. Bastard or no, the child was Rhaegar’s, and Robert would have seen him as a threat. Don’t tell me that you are unaware of the potential threat a bastard can pose. You’ve mentioned it often enough in regard to our children and Jon.”

She didn’t deny that, but simply asked him, “But how did that threaten me or Robb? How were you protecting us?”

“It was treason, my love. I willingly hid Rhaegar’s son from my king. He could have had my head for it if I were discovered. Had I told you, I would have made you party to the same treason. I had no right to do that to you.”

“You had no right to do what you did do to me, either,” she said softly.

“No. I did not. But I would not allow Lyanna’s child to come to harm. I made a decision, Catelyn, and I lived with the consequences. I believe my decision kept Jon alive and I am not sorry for that. I am, however, deeply sorry for every single moment of pain that decision caused you.”

He did reach out and touch her hand then, and she did not pull away. Instead, she gripped his hand tightly with hers, as if holding on for dear life. “And later?” she asked. “What kept you from trusting me then? Or did you still fear making me a traitor to the crown?” Her mouth formed a small smile which did not reach her eyes. “I believe I have given you ample reason to know that I am quite willing to commit treason for your sake, my lord.”

“You have, indeed, my lady. And your courage and loyalty shames me, for I have done little to deserve it.” He swallowed hard and spoke the simple truth. “I was afraid.”

“Afraid? Of what?”

“Of this. Of seeing the hurt in your eyes that I see now. You had forgiven me for Jon, at least enough that we were able to make a life together. A life that surpassed my every hope. I knew that Jon’s presence still caused you pain and that my refusal to tell you anything of his origins caused you more, but I told myself that the happiness we had found was greater than that. I couldn’t risk losing it. Losing you. What if you couldn’t forgive me again? And so I said nothing, and I let the years pass.”

She did not let go of his hand, but with her free hand, she reached out and touched his face, running her long fingers along his bearded cheek. “I’ve spent hours today wishing I did not love you so,” she said softly, and those words struck him like arrows. “But I do love you, Eddard Stark, so I suppose I must find a way to forgive you because I cannot stop loving you.”

She leaned down and kissed him softly then, her lips barely brushing against his, and he felt moisture on his cheek. He put his hands on her face to raise it above his and saw she was crying. Tears fell silently down her cheeks and into his hands.

“I am sorry, my love,” he whispered. “I am so very sorry. I cannot say it enough. I don’t know what to say.”

She shook her head. “Don’t say anything. Just don’t lie to me again.”

“I will not. I promise.”

“And you must trust me. In everything. Nothing that lies before us will be easy, my love, and I cannot keep doing this if I know you do not trust me.” Her blue eyes looked into his questioningly.

“I do trust you, Cat. I trust you more than I trust myself.” He put his arms around her and drew her back down toward him.

She lay there with head on his chest for only a moment before she pulled away to sit up again and remove her fur robe. She was clad only in her nightshift beneath it. “My lady?” he asked. "You’ll freeze. These rooms are much colder than your rooms at Winterfell.”

“I know,” she said. “That’s why Jon gave me that robe. It’s not very pretty, but it’s the warmest thing I’ve ever worn.” She smiled at him. “I don’t need it to keep me warm at the moment, though.”

“My lady?” he asked again as she began removing some of the pillows behind him and easing him into a supine position. Then she snuffed the candles, pulled back the covers, and slid into the bed beside him. “What are you doing?”

“Sleeping with my husband,” she said. As he made a sound of protest, she actually laughed. “And I do mean sleeping. You haven’t the strength for anything else, my love.” She snuggled up against him in the dark and when she spoke again her voice was once more serious. “I need to feel your arms around me, Ned. Please.”

He pulled her to rest against him with her head pillowed on his chest as he had done countless times before. “What about Brynden?” he asked. “Won’t you need to feed him?”

“Yes, but not for hours. I fed him just before I came to you. Sansa is with him. She will get me if he needs me.”

“And Lord Umber?” He hated himself for asking, but he couldn’t help it.

She sighed. “You do understand why he stayed in my chambers last night, don’t you?”

“I do.”

“He retired to his own room just before I came here. Sansa had feigned illness at evening meal and came to my room later complaining of her belly. Jon left so that she could stay with me since she isn’t feeling well.”

“But she is all right, isn’t she,” Ned asked.

“Of course she is. It’s all a mummer’s farce, my love, and one that I grow tired of. I also feel terrible that I’ve gotten Sansa involved in it. But there’s no help for it. It must continue for now.”

He kissed the top of her head. “You have been so brave for so long. I truly do not deserve you.”

She didn’t answer that. She lay so still against him for so long that he thought she was asleep. Then in a very small voice, she asked him. “There are no more secrets, Ned? No more lies?”

“No,” he said, holding her even more tightly. “And there will be no more.”

“Good,” she said. “Because I do not think I can do this again.”

“I will never ask you to. I give you my promise on that.”

He felt her nod against his chest, and neither of them spoke again. He listened to the sound of her breathing and felt her warmth against him in the darkness, and realized there was truly nothing else to say. He drifted off to sleep praying that she truly could forgive him and that they could find their way through this mess together.

When he woke she was gone. He remembered how she’d slip from their bed at Winterfell to feed their babies in the night without waking him. He’d usually awakened when she returned to the bed, as she always pressed herself against him, seeking his warmth after being up and away from the furs. He understood why she had not returned here, but found her absence almost unbearable after holding her so close once more.

A soft knock came at his door. “Come in,” he called.

Marta entered carrying a tray of food. “Did you rest well, my lord?” she asked.

“I did. Is everyone up and about this morning, Marta?” He was aware that she knew he truly asked about Catelyn, but he could play this game as well as the rest of them.

“Indeed, my lord,” she said as she arranged things on the table by his bed. “There are riders approaching Last Hearth. Lord and Lady Umber are preparing to meet them.”

“Riders?” he asked. “What riders? From the Karhold?” There had not been time for Lord Rickard to have sent riders after he sent that raven. Had he sent men out before then?

“No, my lord,” Marta replied. “These men ride beneath the direwolf banner of House Stark.”


	7. Catelyn

A bitterly cold wind whipped at her hood, and Catelyn pulled it more tightly around her face, even as several long strands of hair escaped its captivity and began to blow about.

“I can see it, Mother! I can see the direwolf banner!” Rickon hopped up and down excitedly in front of her. She gazed intently through the open gate and saw that he was quite correct. The white banner carried in front of the approaching riders indeed bore the grey wolf of House Stark just as the men had reported.

She stood in the small courtyard inside the main gate of Last Hearth with Jon at her left and Sansa on her right. Rickon hadn’t been still for a moment, jumping about and running as close to the gate as she would allow him before dashing back to give reports of the riders’ progress. The heavy snow on the ground prevented any speedy approach to the castle, but they were near enough now she would soon be able to recognize any men that she knew. And surely she would know them. Robb wouldn’t send strangers to escort Sansa home to Winterfell.

She couldn’t help but hope that Robb himself might be among them although she knew it was unlikely. He had come to Last Hearth only six weeks ago to bring his sister. He would not easily leave Winterfell again so quickly. As she mentally admonished herself not to be disappointed, she spied a flash of grey streaking out from amid the approaching horses and heard one of the Umber men cry out in alarm as it approached the gate with far greater speed than the horses could manage.

Catelyn cried out as well, but with joy rather than alarm. Removing her hand from Jon’s arm, she stepped toward the huge direwolf. “Grey Wind!” she cried. “To me!”

The animal sprinted through the gates and right past a disappointed Rickon, who’d been running toward it. Grey Wind slowed as he approached Catelyn, and she held out a hand for him to sniff. As he sniffed and licked at her gloved fingers, she scratched between his ears with her other hand. _Robb is here,_ she thought ecstatically. He would never send the wolf without him.

“Your boy’s wolf seems very fond of you, my lady,” Lord Umber laughed.

“Grey Wind and I have been through a lot together, my lord. He knows me well.”

“Ah, but he likes the taste of me better,” the big man roared, holding his own hand out to the wolf. Catelyn smiled, seeing that it was the hand with the missing fingers.

“Don’t let him take any more, however good you taste, my lord,” she teased. “You may have need of all those you have left.”

“It is Robb!” Sansa exclaimed from beside her, and Catelyn looked away from the wolf and the Lord of Last Hearth to see her oldest son riding through the gate at the head of a column of men. He looked even more a man than he had just six weeks ago, and her heart swelled with joy and pride at the sight of him.

Rickon had run directly for his brother’s horse screaming, “Robb! Robb!” and Catelyn smiled to see Robb swing himself out of his saddle and grab the little boy up in his arms as soon as his feet hit the ground.

“Rickon! You’ve grown again! Has Smalljon given you any more deadly weapons to play with?” Looking up as he tousled the boy’s hair, his eyes fell on Catelyn and Sansa.

“Mother!” he called out. “Sansa!” Setting Rickon down, he came to embrace both of them with a great smile.

“Robb,” Catelyn said, holding him tightly to her. “I am so happy to see you.” She pushed him back a bit just so she could look up at his face. “I didn’t think I would though. Is everything all right at Winterfell?”

Robb laughed then, but she thought it sounded a bit forced. “Everything is fine at Winterfell, Mother. Truly. Surely, you don’t begrudge my wishing to see all of you and my new baby brother again, do you?”

Turning to look up at Jon who had hung back as they greeted each other, Robb smiled broadly. “Lord Umber. It is good to see you. And how is young Brynden? Has he doubled in size yet?”

The Greatjon laughed. “Just about, but you’ll see him soon enough.” Umber looked around and took note of the chaos the arrival of the Stark men had created in the courtyard, and saw that no one was standing too closely by except for Catelyn and Sansa. Lowering his voice, he added. “You ride with a rather large company, Lord Stark.”

Catelyn looked around at the men and horses still coming in the gate and realized he was right. Robb had twice the number of men who’d ridden with Sansa and himself before.

In a similarly low voice, Robb replied, “The roads are less safe than I would like, my lord. Deserters from the watch, even wildlings . . .showing up as far south as Winterfell in greater numbers than I’ve ever seen. I’d not have my sister murdered on her journey home.”

Sansa’s face paled at his words, but Jon nodded grimly. “It’s as well you came yourself, my lord. We have news you must hear. We’ve heard of trouble coming from the north as well, and seen some.” He clapped Robb on the back. “But let’s get you inside where it‘s warm. There’s food and drink to be had and some of our news will make you quite glad indeed!” Jon smiled at Catelyn over Robb’s head then, and she nearly burst with happiness at the thought of Ned and Robb seeing each other.

“I have some good news as well,” Robb said, turning back to his mother. “I hope it will make you glad, Mother.” Catelyn was surprised to see a faint red color on Robb’s cheeks that had nothing to do with the cold. “Roslin is with child,” he said softly.

Sansa squealed, and Catelyn felt a rush of joy combined with an odd feeling of unreality. Her breasts were heavy with milk for Brynden, and in that moment it seemed that Robb himself at been at her breast only days before. How could her babe have a babe of his own? _He is a man,_ she reminded herself. _And currently the Lord of Winterfell._

Embracing him quickly again, she said, “That is wonderful news, sweetling. I am very happy for you.”

“Well done, my lord. It would appear you Stark men waste little time and have a knack for wielding all manner of swords.” Jon grinned wickedly at him, causing the color in Robb’s cheeks to go a bit brighter. Catelyn hid a smile, knowing that Robb hated the ease with which his skin flushed, so like her own. When he was small, Theon Greyjoy had teased him for it, and he had once come crying to her that he wished his face was like Jon’s. That had nearly killed her at the time, but she had merely held him tightly and told him he was twice as brave as Theon, and that his face was far more handsome than Theon’s or Jon’s. Her chest tightened slightly at the memory, and she tasted bitterness at the thought of her husband’s bastard who was not his bastard.

“Come, Robb,” she said. “Do let’s get you inside. I am nearly frozen, and I haven’t been riding a horse in this weather since before dawn.” She put his hand on his arm to lead him into the keep, but he hesitated.

“My men,” he said.

“They’ll be seen to, my lord,” Jon assured him. “There’s plenty warm food in the hall for all of them, as I said. And tonight we’ll have a proper feast.” He looked at Robb seriously. “And we really must talk.”

Robb nodded then, and allowed them to lead him inside.

The hall was filled with people in very short order, and it was clear that no serious discussion would be held there. Rickon had caused a brief uproar when Grey Wind was allowed to follow Robb in as Shaggydog had been banned from the hall. When Jon had patiently tried to explain that Robb was a guest, and the Lord of Winterfell besides, Rickon had been decidedly unimpressed.

“I’m a Stark of Winterfell, too,” he protested. “And I’ve been a guest here a LOT longer than Robb has.”

Smalljon Umber, who had joined them upon their entry to the hall had nearly fallen out of his chair with laughter at that point, but his father had tried again. “Now, young Rickon, see how Grey Wind sits so still at your brother’s feet there. We both know Shaggydog isn’t nearly so well behaved.”

At that, Rickon had grinned at him and said, “Well which one of them bit your fingers off?”

That got a loud laugh from everyone in earshot, and Jon had relented, roaring, “Go get your damned black beast then, son. We’ve Starks in the hall today, so it’s wolves all around, I suppose.”

Rickon had bolted off after his wolf without another word.

“What news did you have for me, Lord Umber?” Robb asked after watching his little brother leave the hall.

“Well, some of it should wait,” he replied. “Get your belly full, and we’ll go up to your lady mother’s chambers.”

“Mother’s chambers?” Robb asked, surprised at the suggestion.

“Well, that’s where your newest brother is. You did say you wanted to see him, did you not? I expect now you’ll need the practice holding one that size.” Robb responded with smile. “Besides,” Jon went on in a quieter voice, “We won’t be disturbed there.”

Robb nodded, and turned his attention to the food before him. Catelyn was gratified to see that he had a hearty appetite. Even as he ate, though, it was obvious he wanted to hear what news they had for him.

“The deserters from the Watch,” he said, after a bit. “Some of them have told strange tales. I wonder if you’ve heard any . . .”

“We’ve no deserters here,” Smalljon Umber said quickly.

“Your father said something about hearing or seeing trouble from the north, though,” Robb said, as he took a bite of bread. “I’ve sent ravens to the Wall, but I’ve not received a reply. I fear the Old Bear thinks I’m just trying to get to Father,” he said somewhat bitterly.

“We sent a raven to Castle Black just yesterday,” the Greatjon said carefully.

Catelyn watched as Robb looked up at him, regarding him silently and waiting to see if he would say more. It was in moments such as these that he most reminded her of Ned.

“We have a man of the Watch here, my lord,” he finally continued. “Not a deserter,” he put in quickly. “But a man who was in a great battle beyond the Wall and barely escaped with his life. Two of my men found him trying to make his way back to Castle Black, almost dead of his wounds and the frostbite. We’ve been treating his injuries.”

“Where is he? I should like to speak with him,” Robb said. “If he’s capable of speaking, mayhaps he can tell us some truth about these things we’ve heard.”

“He is a villain!” came an angry young voice, and Catelyn turned to see Rickon standing behind her, Shaggydog snarling at his side. She hadn’t heard them return to the hall.

“Rickon . . .” she started.

“You should chop his head off with Ice, Robb,” the little boy insisted.

Robb frowned. “What are you talking about, Rickon?”

“That man from the Night’s Watch. He is a deserter! I’ve heard what people say. And he tried to hurt Mother and Sansa!”

“Rickon!” Catelyn cried sharply. “He did no such thing!”

“He did, too! I heard you scream! You were scared!”

 _Oh gods!_ She hadn’t realized Rickon had heard her. He hadn’t said anything about it.

Robb looked at her now and obviously saw the distress on her face. “Mother?” he asked. “Is this true? Did this man attempt to harm you in some way?”

She could only shake her head mutely, but from her place two seats down, Sansa called out, “No! That’s not what happened!”

Looking at her son, Catelyn realized Sansa’s protest had only confirmed to Robb that _something_ had happened, and he turned angrily toward Jon. “Lord Umber, I would know what has happened here. If anyone has assaulted my sister or my mother, I will have them answer for it.”

Jon lowered his voice, but there was no mistaking the angry edge in it, “If anyone assaulted _my lady wife_ you can be sure I would have them answer, my lord.” He turned toward Sansa. “My lady, if you would stay here with young Rickon while he eats, I would take Lord Stark to see the crow we have upstairs.”

“I wanna see him, too,” Rickon insisted.

“Rickon!” Catelyn said again. “You will sit down and eat your food, and not say another word about it.”

Rickon glared, and Shaggydog growled at her.

“And I am not afraid of you,” she said to the black wolf. “Rickon, if he growls like that at anyone else, I’ll not only ban him from the hall. I’ll have him chained.”

Rickon looked at her fiercely, but then his little face seemed to crumble. “But I only want the bad man to go away so he won’t hurt you,” he said with tears starting fill his blue eyes.

Catelyn’s heart broke. “Come here,” she said, pulling her son to her. “He isn’t a bad man, and he would never, ever hurt me, no matter what you heard. He only fell and hit his head, and it scared me.”

“But . . . Rodge said that all crows are thieves or murderers, and they can’t be trusted.”

“Rodge is wrong,” Catelyn said firmly, wondering where she could find this Rodge in order to throttle him. “Some criminals are sent to the Wall, that’s true. But honorable men volunteer to serve because it’s an important job. Men like your Uncle Benjen. I know you don’t remember him, but you’ve heard us speak of him. And other men, good men, are sent there unjustly . . .like . . .”

“Like my real father?” he asked quietly. “The one who used to be Lord Stark before Robb?”

“Yes,” Catelyn said just as quietly, struggling to speak around the lump in her throat.

Jon Umber laid a hand on her shoulder. “The man here at Last Hearth is a good man, Rickon. And I’d allow no harm to come to your mother, lad.”

As Rickon looked up at the Lord of Last Hearth with trust and admiration on his face, Catelyn’s heart broke a little more, but she was grateful he seemed to believe them now.

“Now, you sit here with your sister, Rickon,” Jon continued, “Because you haven’t eaten all morning, and I know you’re starving. I shall take your mother to her rooms, and then, if your brother still wishes to speak with our injured crow, I shall escort him there.”

“I would,” Robb said, rising. “But as it doesn’t appear I need to go there with Ice in my hands after all, I would like to come see little Brynden first. If that’s all right, Mother?”

Catelyn nodded, the lump in her throat now feeling much too large to speak around. When Jon extended his arm, she rose wordlessly to take it, and the three of them left the hall together.

They walked in silence to her chambers, but when the door of her room closed behind them, she sank down onto a chair and put her face in her hands. “Gods, Jon! How can I keep doing this?”

“Mother, what’s wrong? What is going on?” Robb asked.

At almost the exact same time, Marta emerged from the little room off to the left, carrying Brynden. “My lady, are you . . .oh! My lords! Pardon me.”

“It’s all right, Marta,” Jon said, walking toward her. “Here, give me the lad, and you can go on. Young Lord Stark would like some time with his lady mother.”

Catelyn looked up and saw the old woman looking at her, obviously concerned. She tried to smile, and nodded to her. “I’m fine, Marta,” she managed to say.

Marta gave her a frankly disbelieving look, but she handed Brynden to Jon and walked into the corridor, carefully closing the door behind her.

“Mother?” Robb asked again.

“Sit down, Robb,” Catelyn sighed.

“Would you like to hold your brother?” Jon asked, walking toward him. Robb extended his arms, and Jon handed Brynden to him.

He held him somewhat awkwardly, but managed to lay him in his lap to look at his little face. “Gods be good!” he exclaimed. “He looks even more like Jon now than when he was born!”

Lord Umber startled at that, and Catelyn shook her head. “He doesn’t mean you,” she said softly. “He isn’t blind.”

“But . . .” Jon’s face darkened as he realized to whom Robb referred, but before he could lay into Robb for comparing her infant son to Ned’s bastard, Catelyn raised her hand.

“It’s all right, Jon,” she said wearily. “He does look remarkably like Jon Snow did as an infant. Robb didn’t say it to hurt me.”

Now, Robb’s face went a deep crimson as he realized what he had done. “Mother . . .I am sorry . . .it’s only . . .gods, he looks just like Father and . . .”

“It’s all right, Robb. I know well enough what he looks like.”

At the sound of her voice, Brynden started fussing in Robb’s arms, and he immediately looked even more distressed. “What . . .what do I do?”

Catelyn smiled at him. “You give him to me. He’s hungry.”

“Oh!” He stood up and brought her the babe, kissing the top of his little head before placing him into her arms. “Should we . . .go then?” he asked.

She smiled even more broadly. “I’m only going to feed him, Robb. Your Roslin will soon be doing the same for your son, or daughter. You might as well get used to the sight.”

Robb looked at Lord Umber, and realizing that he wasn’t going anywhere, he nodded and sat back down. “Then tell me what is going on, Mother. What has upset you so badly?”

“Your father is here.” She said it simply, plainly. She didn’t know how to make the shock any less, and she was too tired to try.

Robb looked stunned. “My father . . .is . . .here?” He stared at her, completely oblivious to the babe suckling at her breast now. “Where?”

“Our injured crow, my lord,” Jon said softly, and Robb turned to face him. “Lord Eddard was in a great battle somewhere to the north of the Wall. Not against wildlings, but against . . .Others. Fell creatures out of tales made to frighten children.” He shook his head slowly. “Whatever stories you heard from your deserters or wildlings, they’re likely true. Most of the men in this battle were slain. Your father was more than half dead when he was found. He’s still too weak to go anywhere.”

Robb swallowed. “Where . . .where is he? I want to see him.”

Jon smiled. “The quickest way is there,” he said, nodding toward the tapestry. “His room is one floor up, but there is a passage with a spiral stair cut in the stone behind that wall. Last Hearth is full of such secrets.”

Robb stood. “Then, let’s go.”

“No,” Jon said firmly, and when Robb turned back to face him, Catelyn saw anger in his blue eyes. “Not through there,” he said more softly. “I said quite loudly at dinner that I’d take you to see our crow once we’d seen your mother to her rooms. We’ll go the longer way. Where we can be seen.”

“No one knows who he is,” Robb said slowly, as he began to understand.

“You’ve seen Brynden,” Catelyn said softly. “If we told the household that Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and unjustly accused traitor, was here in Last Hearth, everyone would want to see him.” Now Catelyn swallowed before continuing. “And once they’d seen him and Brynden together, they would never see Brynden the same way.”

“No,” Robb said gravely. “Obviously, you haven’t told Rickon.” His face looked pained at the memory of what had taken place in the hall, and Catelyn felt as if her own heart had been stabbed once more. “Does Sansa know Father is here?”

“Of course,” Catelyn replied. “I have had no secrets from your sister since she first saw Brynden. And I would not lie to your brother were he not too young to hold his tongue.” She shook her head against the tears that filled her eyes and threatened to spill once more. “Rickon doesn’t even remember Ned, Robb. He doesn’t . . .” she couldn’t keep speaking, and she lowered her head to watch little Brynden as he nursed.

She lifted her eyes again when she felt a hand on her arm. Her son stood beside her, looking at her with his Tully blue eyes full of a resolve so reminiscent of his father that she caught her breath. “He will, Mother. I promise you, he will.”

She nodded, and Robb turned toward Jon. “I would see my father now, Lord Umber.”

Jon nodded, and turned to her. “Shall we see you there, my lady?”

She nodded once more, and as the men exited into the corridor, she pulled Brynden from the teat and put his head on her shoulder as she hastily relaced her bodiced. Then she carried her son into the little space behind the tapestry and up the stone staircase.

Ned was lying in his bed, looking pale, but not so deathly as the evening before.

“Cat,” he said, as she entered the room, and she smiled to see the expression on his face as he looked at her. “And my boy!” he exclaimed as he spied the bundle in her arms.

Quickly, she went to sit beside him on the bed and pressed a kiss to his lips, half afraid that he would pull away or tell her it was wrong, but he only kissed her back, putting his arms around her as if he never wanted to let her go.

Knowing they only had a few moments before Robb and Jon arrived, she pulled back slightly, and smiled. “We must try not to crush him, my lord,” she said softly. “And we must be quiet. You are in here alone, remember?”

He nodded and slowly let go of her, reaching for Brynden whom she happily surrendered to him. She thought the babe might fuss, as she’d interrupted his feeding, but he only looked up at his father with a serious stare. As Ned stared back at him with the same grave expression and identical grey eyes, she thought she’d never seen anything so beautiful.

“He is beautiful,” Ned whispered, in an echo of her thoughts. “How did you manage that, my lady?” he asked softly, looking up at her with a true smile. _Gods, I love his smile._ “It is quite obvious why most of our children are beautiful. They look like you. And Arya has Lyanna’s northern beauty. But this poor child . . .“ He looked down at Brynden again. “He is me to the life, and yet somehow, he too, is beautiful. It must be your influence.”

“You are beautiful,” she whispered, watching her husband gaze at their son.

He gave a sort of chuckle then, but then looked up at her with a serious expression. “Cat . . .I . . .”

“My love,” she interrupted, not having the time or the desire to venture back into the uncomfortable words or emotions of the previous days. The honesty between them was too new, and the feelings still too raw for her to want to test them now. “You’re about to have visitors.”

“Visitors?” he asked. “From Winterfell? Marta said there were riders with Stark banners.”

She smiled. “Your son is here. Your firstborn son.”

The expression on his face was priceless. “Robb?” he said in a tone of disbelief.

Before she could respond, a soft knock came at the door, and she quickly grabbed Brynden from him and went to stand behind the armoire, hidden from the doorway.

“Come in,” Ned called, and she could still hear the emotion in his voice.

“Lord Stark of Winterfell would like to speak with you, if you’re up to it, man,” came Jon’s loud voice as the door opened.

“I . . .I am,” came Ned’s reply.

Then came the sound of the door closing firmly followed by Robb’s whispered, “Gods . . .Father . . .I cannot believe you are here.”

Ned did not reply, and Catelyn knew well he did not trust himself to speak just then.

“Catelyn?” came Jon’s voice, at a much softer volume than his usual. “Only your son and I are here, my lady.”

At that, she came out from her hiding place and found herself transfixed by the way her husband and son looked at each other. Ned’s expression was one of disbelieving awe and pride in the tall, young man who stood before him. Robb’s face, however, appeared to her as a little boy’s again, overjoyed to see his father even as he took in his thin and pale appearance.

“Robb,” Ned finally said, his voice little more than a whisper. “It is very good to see you . . .son.”

Robb’s eyes widened. Catelyn knew he remembered Ned’s adamant refusal to treat him as anything other than the Lord of Winterfell at their last meeting and recognized the significance of that last word. Her son strode to the side of the bed and reached for Ned’s hand.

“I am your son,” Robb said firmly, “And proud to be called so.” Robb’s face clearly showed his emotions, and his voice caught just a little.

Ned’s face, on the other hand, appeared frozen to anyone who didn’t know him well, but Catelyn knew him better than anyone, and saw precisely what Robb’s words did to him. Ned shook his head slowly. “I have given you precious little reason to be proud, but I am resolved give you more from now on.” He held up his free hand to stop Robb’s protest, and Robb made a small sound of shock at the missing finger. “You, however, are a son that any man would want to call his, and while I may not deserve you, I am proud to call you mine.”

Robb’s blue eyes watered slightly at that, and he reached down to wrap his father in an embrace which Ned returned with equal force. When Robb stood back up, Catelyn smiled as she watched her strong, handsome son attempt to compose himself before speaking futher. “How did you . . .What happened? What attacked you? Are you truly all right now?” Once he started, the boy’s questions tumbled forth as if he could not stop them.

“It’s a long story, Robb,” Ned sighed. “You should sit down.”

Robb and Jon both seated themselves in chairs. Catelyn moved to sit beside Ned on the bed, handing him Brynden once more. Over the next half hour, interrupted by questions from Robb and occasional comments by Catelyn or Jon, Ned told again the story of how he had come to be at Last Hearth.

When he finished, Robb immediately asked the question that had not occurred to Catelyn to ask when she had first heard Ned’s tale. “What of Jon?” he demanded. “How fares my brother?”

 _He is not your brother._ The words sounded bitter to her even though she didn’t speak them aloud. Ned reached for her hand before he replied to Robb, and she held it tightly, seeking an anchor lest she get swept away in that bitterness. _He is not your brother._ How many times had she thought that over the years with resentment and cold fury? Now, of course, she knew the boy was not Robb’s brother for an entirely different reason than illegitimacy, but thinking on that only brought up the more recent cause of her anger. She swallowed hard and concentrated on the feel of her hand joined with Ned’s as he answered their son’s question.

“I fear Jon is lost, Robb,” Ned said quietly. “He was sent with a scouting party before the battle at the Fist, and none of them returned.”

“But that means he wasn’t at that battle,” Robb insisted, “So he could still be alive. You don’t really know.”

Catelyn’s heart broke at the desperation in her son’s voice, and she realized she hoped that Jon Snow did live, not only for Ned’s sake, but for her son who had loved him since they were babes together at Winterfell.

“It is possible,” Ned conceded, although he did not sound very hopeful.

“I did send a raven to the Wall including an inquiry about young Snow from your sister,” Jon said.

Robb snorted. “Good luck with receiving a reply. The Old Bear ignores all my letters.”

“Lord Commander Mormont did not wish to encourage your attempting to communicate with me,” Ned said softly. “He merely did his job in that. I know not whether he made it back to Castle Black, but if he did, and he knows anything of Jon’s fate, he would certainly tell you or Sansa if your brother lived or not. Deaths are not hidden from families, Robb.”

“Is Uncle Benjen dead?” Robb asked pointedly.

“I do not know, but he has been missing for a long time, so I fear it likely.” Catelyn could hear the deep sadness in her husband’s voice as he contemplated the likely deaths of both the nephew he had claimed as his own and his last remaining sibling. He cleared his throat then, and spoke in a firmer voice. “But you must tell us more of Winterfell. How are Arya and Bran? What of your new bride? I confess I find it hard to think of you as a man wed.”

Robb smiled at that. “Oh, I am certainly wed, Father, and Roslin is a sweet girl. I think you will like her. She must take after her late mother as there is nothing of Lord Walder in her.”

Catelyn almost laughed at the expression of relief on Ned’s face at that statement.

“In fact,” Robb continued, looking at Brynden with some amusement, “I hope you will be as pleased as I am when I tell you that not only are you once again a father, but soon you will be a grandfather as well.”

This time Catelyn did laugh, as the dumbfounded expression on Ned’s face at that pronouncement was obvious enough even to cause Jon Umber to snort in amusement. She wondered if she had looked quite that astonished when Robb had told her.

“A . . .grandfather?” Ned stammered. “When . . .?”

Robb laughed. “Not for a few moons yet. Roslin is about four moons gone now.”

Ned seemed to recover from the initial shock and now gave Robb one of his rare, completely uninhibited smiles. “I am very happy for you, Robb. It is a great thing to hold a babe in your arms and know it is your own child. A strange feeling, I think, and unlike any other, but better than most any other as well.” He looked at the babe who had fallen asleep in his arms and then back to Robb. “You will know that for yourself when your child is born.”

Robb smiled at both his parents for a moment, but then his expression turned more serious. “You asked about other news from Winterfell. Bran and Arya are both well enough.” Catelyn detected a certain reluctance to speak of his brother and sister in his voice. “But there is other troubling news. We had a letter from Willas Tyrell sent from King’s Landing. Their party delayed there a bit because of the battle.”

“Battle?” Ned asked sharply.

“Stannis Baratheon was soundly defeated in a bid to take King’s Landing. Apparently the very river burned, and most of Stannis’s fleet with it,” Robb said grimly.

“Gods be good,” Catelyn breathed. “And did the Tyrells fight in this battle, Robb?”

Her son nodded. “Willas is no soldier. His crippled leg prevents that, but both his brothers fought for Joffrey. The wedding between Joffrey and Margaery Tyrell is set to go forward now, but Willas has been given leave to continue on to Winterfell, as the crown is most interested in a successful alliance between the Reach and the North.”

“I don’t like it,” Catelyn snapped. “I don’t like it at all. More and more, it seems that giving Sansa to the Tyrells is simply handing her right back to the Lannisters, and that I will not do.”

“I don’t like it, either, Mother, but you said yourself I should at least hear what the man has to say,” Robb responded.

“And your mother was correct,” Ned said at that point. “Robb, when do you anticipate Willas Tyrell arriving at Winterfell?”

“Based on when the raven was received and assuming Willas and his party left soon after sending it, if they have fair weather throughout their journey, I imagine the earliest they could arrive is three weeks from now.”

Ned nodded thoughtfully. “That means you have to leave for Winterfell almost at once to be certain you arrive there ahead of them.”

“I know,” Robb said. “That’s why I left for Last Hearth as quickly as I did after receiving that raven. I told the truth about my concern for Sansa’s safety on the road, but I also wanted Mother’s counsel about this. And I wanted to tell her and Lord Umber what news we have from our people in Essos.”

“Seeking your mother’s counsel was a wise move, Robb, but now we must plan quickly. I would know all that you have been doing in the past few months. We also need to know what became of Stannis after his defeat. Did Tyrell’s letter state that he was dead or captured?” Ned’s grey eyes were dark with concentration, and Catelyn rejoiced to see him truly taking a role in their plans. She began to hope that he had meant everything he’d said about putting his life with them above his oath to the Night’s Watch.

“No, Father, it didn’t.”

“Then he likely escaped. The Lannisters would be too eager to gloat if it were otherwise. We need to learn what he plans next, and what strength he has left, if any.” Ned had sat up straighter in the bed as he spoke, and Brynden shifted in his arms, letting out a soft cry.

Catelyn quickly reached for him and began undoing the laces at the front of her gown.

“My lady!” Ned said, looking meaningfully toward Jon Umber.

Catelyn sighed. “Jon has seen me feed your son before, my lord. And we can’t very well allow him to scream in here, can we?” She looked at Ned with a challenge in her expression. None of them had time to indulge his ridiculous jealousy at the moment. “Unless you’d like me to take him back to my rooms?”

“No,” he said quickly. “You need to stay.”

“Your son and I cannot stay much longer, my lord,” Jon Umber put in. “We have been here quite long enough for young Robb here to have asked anything he might need to know about the state of the Night’s Watch.”

“You are right,” Ned said reluctantly. “We have much and more to speak of, though, although I suppose you can’t all come at once without raising suspicion. Perhaps, you can come up to your mother’s chambers this afternoon, Robb. No one will question you wishing to spend time with her, especially once it’s known how short your stay here will be.”

Robb nodded. “I can do that, and then Lord Umber and I can spend some time speaking before tonight’s feast. It’s expected that we’ll spend some time conferring. I’m supposed to be the Lord of Winterfell, after all.”

“You are the Lord of Winterfell, Robb,” Ned said softly. “My wish to clear the stain from my honor and take my place as a Stark again should not require that you step down.”

That shocked Catelyn as much as it did the two men, but she realized it shouldn’t have. Ned would never want to take something from his son which he felt he had earned. And she knew from their recent conversations that Ned had suffered far more doubts about his own right to the title than she had ever realized.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Father,” Robb said immediately. “I will be Lord of Winterfell some day, but not while you live. I have far less need of a title than I do of my father.”

Robb’s words were obviously heartfelt, and Catelyn’s eyes filled with tears as she saw Ned swallow once before nodding briefly. “I will do whatever you wish, Robb. We needn’t discuss that yet as I fear it will not be an issue for some time.” He sighed deeply. “Lord Umber is right. You two should go. We will speak soon, though, Robb . . .and Jon, we should . . .”

“I can come through Lady Catelyn’s chamber after the feast, my lord. No one will question my accompanying my wife to her rooms at night,” Jon said.

Ned actually growled, but then nodded with his jaw clenched tightly. He also reached out to touch Catelyn‘s shoulder. As Jon and Robb were rising to go, he said to her, “One thing that is clear, my lady, is that you must return with Robb to Winterfell.”

“What?” roared Jon Umber turning back around to face Ned. “She can’t possibly go back there.”

“Keep your voice down, Jon,” she said softly, although she was as shocked by Ned’s pronouncement as he was. She knew how unhappy he was with this sham marriage of hers, but surely he wouldn’t be so ridiculous as to demand her physical separation from the man by nearly five hundred miles.

“She must go,” Ned insisted. “Go with her, if you like, but she has to be at Winterfell when this Willas Tyrell arrives.” He turned to Robb then. “You have done remarkably well, Robb, ever since my arrest. But you are young, and lack experience in these games of politics. Your mother is as keen an observer of men as I’ve ever met, and she knows these games better than you or I.”

Catelyn started to protest, but Robb stopped her. “He’s right, Mother. I rode all the way here to speak with you about these things. I . . .you know how much I relied on you when we rode south.” There was just the hint of a pleading note in his voice, and Catelyn at once felt guilty that her need to protect Brynden had essentially caused her to abandon Robb. A man he may be, a lord, husband, and expectant father, but he was also still her son.

“I would like to be there,” she said softly. “But what reason does Lady Umber have to travel to Winterfell?”

Ned grimaced slightly at her use of that title, but then said, “Robb has given you the reason, my lady. His Lady Roslin is with child. Your first grandchild. She is far from her home with no woman of her family to see to her during this time. You also have children at Winterfell still young enough to desire a visit from their mother, do you not?”

Catelyn’s heart ached just at the mention of Bran and Arya. The thought of actually seeing them almost made their absence at the moment even more painful.

“Jon?” she said, turning from Ned to Lord Umber. His face looked stricken, and she wanted to go and take his hand as he had so often been willing to do for her, but Brynden still suckled at her breast and Ned’s hand rested on her shoulder. “What do you think, my lord?”

She felt the tension in Ned’s hand as she asked Jon for his opinion, but the man deserved that from her. Ned had to realize that.

“There is some merit in the suggestion, my lady,” he said stiffly. “I must admit I am loath to allow you or Brynden far from my protection here.”

Now it was her son who bristled, looking at Jon with an expression alarmingly like his father’s. “Do you think I would not protect my lady mother or my brother, Lord Umber?”

“Of course not, my lord,” Jon said simply. Catelyn realized that he always referred to both Ned and Robb by the title, and she was grateful for that. “It is simply that at Winterfell, Brynden’s . . .appearance will undoubtedly be noticed by more people than at Last Hearth.” He turned back to Catelyn. “And I don’t imagine you would go to Winterfell without him, my lady.”

Catelyn shook her head. “I couldn’t,” she said. Jon had raised a good point. While many at Last Hearth knew Ned, none of them had spent their lifetime in his company, observing his face and expressions. Many people at Winterfell, however, had done precisely that.

Jon nodded. “I didn’t think you could,” he said softly. “As I said, the suggestion has merit, but I would not go forward without careful consideration of the danger to you and the babe.” Looking up at Robb then, he said, “We can discuss this further elsewhere. We do need to be going.”

Robb looked from Catelyn to Ned. “I will come again in a few hours, Father. We will speak more.” Robb then walked to the door, but Jon remained a moment more.

“Do not linger too long, Lady Catelyn. Rickon will likely want you, and you should be seen about the castle as well,” Jon told her, and Catelyn felt Ned tense further beside her.

She nodded. Gently moving away from Ned’s hand, she went to stand once more out of sight until the door had opened and closed again.

“He’s right,” she said as she moved to sit at Ned’s side again. “No one at Winterfell will believe he’s an Umber. Even Arya and Bran will see that he . . .”

Her words were cut off by Ned’s mouth on hers. The kiss was hard and demanding, and a part of her wanted to push him away because she knew he was unjustly angry at Jon. Yet the part of her that had missed his lips against hers for so long won out, and she simply parted her lips to allow his tongue to slide against hers. He was pulling her against him with a strength she hadn’t realized he had, and she put one hand on his chest to keep him from crushing the babe that she held between them. Her heart was racing, and her breath came in short rapid pants when he at last broke the kiss and pulled back to gaze at her intently with smoky grey eyes. “You are my wife,” he growled.

She licked her lips and looked down at her infant son. The babe’s eyes were closed and he lay against her with his mouth closed loosely around her nipple. She raised him up to one shoulder and began to pat his back while she fought to control her breathing and calm the desire that kiss had ignited within her. She looked back to Ned to find that his eyes had not moved from her face.

“I know that,” she said softly. “You are the one who seemed to forget it for a time, my lord. Do not be angry with me.”

She saw his reaction to her words in his eyes, although his facial expression changed little. “I never forgot,” he said fiercely. “I admit I tried to forget it, tried to believe you were no longer mine, but I never succeeded. I want you, Cat.”

 _Oh gods. I want you, too._ She felt like she’d been set on fire, but she shook her head. “You are still weak. And we have no time.”

“You are right that we have no time,” he said. “Robb cannot afford to linger more than two nights here, and I meant what I said about your returning to Winterfell with him.”

She shook her head. “I don’t know,” she said desperately. “What Jon said about . . .”

“You needn’t ask Jon Umber’s permission for anything,” he said harshly. Realizing he had raised his voice somewhat, he looked toward the door before turning back to whisper to her. “You are my wife, not his. While I am grateful for what the man has done, it is my place to say what is best for you.”

That made her angry, and she pulled completely away from him. “Your place?” she hissed, wanting to scream at him, but uncomfortably aware of the guards outside his door. “You left! I realize it was not of your own choosing, but ever since you left for King’s Landing it has been my place to decide what is best--for me, for our children, for the whole bloody North! How dare you sit there and presume to tell me what to do!”

He looked at her then, the anger in his grey eyes reflecting her own. “I am your husband, Catelyn,” he said in a soft, more controlled voice.

“And I am your wife,” she responded, “So treat me with the respect that affords me. You claim to trust me, my lord, so listen to me before you order me to comply.”

He actually looked abashed at that, and after a moment, he nodded, not taking his eyes from her own. “Speak your mind, Cat,” he said softly.

“I am frightened of bringing Brynden to Winterfell. There is nothing I want more than to go home. Surely you know that. Well, other than having you go home with me. But the entire castle will know him for your son within an hour of our arrival there. You know it’s true.”

He nodded. “They certainly will suspect it.” Before she could interrupt, he continued. “Oh, they’ll think they know. But, in truth, if both you and Lord Umber say otherwise for the present, they can’t truly ’know,’ can they? Look at the Lannister bastard on the Iron Throne. A lot of people ‘know’ the truth about him, but he still bears the name Baratheon and sits in Robert’s place. Besides, I cannot believe anyone within our castle would wish my son harm.”

Catelyn held Brynden closely to her. “I do not think they would wish him harm, either, Ned. But people talk, and the more talk there is, the more likely it is to spread to those who should not hear it.”

Ned nodded. “You speak truly, my lady. And I would not have you leave here with the babe if I could see another way. But I must return to the Wall, Cat. Not forever. I have promised you that yours is the vow I intend to keep, and I meant it. But for now, I must go back. And we cannot leave Robb to treat with this southron lord who seeks to take our daughter. This is Sansa, Cat. I trust no one but you.”

She had begged him to trust her, had she not? He was right about Robb. Conducting a marriage negotiation with a High Lord from the Reach who was about to become the goodbrother of the bastard king Joffrey was beyond him. Helplessly, she wondered if she would ever be presented with a course of action that would be good for all of her children. “I suppose I will have to go,” she said finally. “But you must stay here until you are healed, Ned. I would not have you ride to the Wall before you are well enough to go.”

“I’ll be well enough soon, my love,” he said, reaching out a hand to her face. “But now, I suppose you should go. Rickon needs you, too. I like to think of you with him.”

The pain in his voice when he spoke of the child he knew was here, and yet he could not see or touch was a knife in her heart. “I love you, Ned,” she said softly, reaching up with one hand to cover his hand on her cheek.

He closed his eyes briefly, and then leaned in to place a kiss on the top of Brynden’s head before putting his lips once more to hers. This kiss was as gentle and soft as the other had been insistent and demanding, though. “Come to me tonight?” he asked. “After Lord Umber has left?”

She nodded, and then stood without another word, unsure if she’d be able to leave at all if she stayed one moment longer.

The day lasted forever. She spent time with Sansa watching Rickon practice with his little bow. She was somewhat surprised to realize he was actually getting reasonably good at shooting, even at his young age. Smalljon Umber assured her he was going to be a master archer once he grew, and she smiled at the way her little boy blossomed at the compliment. Robb watched him for awhile as well, and Rickon could not have been happier between the attention of his older brother and his stepbrother. Robb soon had to go see to his men, though, and Catelyn went to help Sansa pack things up for her return to Winterfell. She decided not to tell her daughter that she and the children may be accompanying her until something was definite.

She retired to her rooms not long after the midday meal so that Robb could come through and speak with Ned. She would have liked to have been in on those discussions, but Brynden, who was generally such an easygoing babe chose that hour to cry almost inconsolably, so she remained in her own room alternately walking the floor with him and putting him to the teat. When Robb stepped back into her room from behind the tapestry after an hour, he said very little, but his face looked grim.

“Did you speak of everything you needed to?” she asked him.

He smiled weakly. “I don’t think we can ever speak of everything we need to, Mother. But, yes. I told Father everything we’ve been doing and what we know. He had a bit to say about it all.”

She smiled at him. “I’d imagine he would.”

Robb looked at Brynden, finally asleep on her shoulder. “Did I hear him crying?”

“Likely, the whole castle heard him crying, but he seems better now. You’ve been helping me walk him back and forth, and I am most grateful.”

He twisted his mouth. “I wish I could really have been helping you.”

“You’ll get your turn at such tasks soon enough. Go on now, sweetling. You want plenty chance to speak with Lord Umber and do whatever else you have need of before the feast tonight. If you see Marta, send her to me. I’ll have her sit with your baby brother so I can go down and see to the preparations.”

Robb had kissed her cheek then and left. Soon afterward, Marta had arrived to take over Brynden’s care. He had finally allowed himself to be laid in his crib without protest, and Catelyn had spent the next two hours in the kitchens and hall, making sure all was being done for the night’s feast. Then she’d spent another hour dressing and allowing Marta to fuss with her hair. The woman was determined to do it up perfectly tonight, and Catelyn was rather annoyed.

“It’s only our household and my son’s men, Marta,” she’d groused as the older woman twisted yet another section into a copper braid. “I don’t need to look like I’m being presented at court.”

Marta had shrugged. “You won’t be at the feast all night, my lady.”

Catelyn felt the color rise to her cheeks. _Come to me tonight?_ Ned did love her hair. She suspected that Marta knew the entire truth of her situation by this point, but she also knew that neither of them would ever say it aloud. “Marta,” she said softly. “Forgive me for being cross. I will never be able to thank you for your kindness to me.”

Marta laid the brush down and looked at her. “You deserve kindness, my lady. But if you would do something for me, just remember that Lord Umber deserves kindness as well. I know that’s all you have in your heart to give him, but try to give him that.”

“Of course,” Catelyn replied, puzzled by the woman’s words. How could she ever be unkind to Jon? No one save Ned had ever done more for her. Jon had treated her with perfect respect and cared for her welfare just as if she actually were his wife. _Oh._ The realization hit her suddenly, and she heard the old woman chuckle softly.

“It isn’t your doing, my lady,” she said as she twisted the final braid into place on Catelyn’s head. “Just be kind to him.”

The feast was interminable. Catelyn was well aware that both Robb and Jon were as eager for it to end as she was, but they all put up a reasonably good show. The expression on Jon’s face when he had come to her room to escort her to the hall and seen her in the blue gown with her hair done up had confirmed the terrible suspicion she’d formed during her conversation with Marta, and now she felt weighed down with guilt every time she caught him looking at her. _I am so sorry, Jon._

Finally, everyone was full of food, most were equally full spirits, and the revelers were beginning to drift away. Rickon, who had begged to be allowed to stay up, was falling asleep in his chair. Jon looked meaningfully at the boy and then at her. “My lady,” he said, “I believe we should take your young lad to his room and then retire ourselves.”

She nodded, and he hoisted Rickon over his shoulder with no effort whatsoever. The child was so out of it, he didn’t even move when he was laid into his bed. Catelyn kissed his forehead softly, and walked with her hand on Jon’s arm to her chambers. Once inside her room, she said, “I know this isn’t easy for you, my lord.”

“It isn’t easy for any of us, Catelyn,” he said. Then he smiled at her. “But it is well worth it, my lady. I shall go speak with Lord Eddard now. Do you wish to come?”

The thought of sitting between the two of them appealed to her not at all, and she shook her head. “It’s been more than four hours since Brynden ate. No doubt, he’ll wake for me soon.”

With that, Jon took his leave, and disappeared into the little passage. Catelyn walked to the crib and peered down at her sleeping son, his face the image of his father’s. “What shall we all do, little one?” she whispered.

“You’ll all do what you have to, I imagine, my lady.”

Catelyn jumped, and then turned to see Marta coming from the little side room. “Oh, Marta, you scared me.”

“I’m sorry, my lady. Would you like to me to help you undress? Or will you stay in the gown until Lord Umber comes back through?”

No one bothered pretending Marta didn’t know about the passage to the other room. “I’ll wait up for him,” Catelyn said. “You may go.”

The old woman nodded and turned to go. After a bit, Brynden did wake, and Catelyn sat and nursed him, as she wondered what his father and Lord Umber were discussing and devoutly hoped that the two men she cared so much about in such different ways weren’t about to kill each other. She had just gotten the babe settled back down in his crib when she heard Jon’s footsteps in the passage and looked up to see him returning.

He looked even more grim than Robb had when he’d returned from Ned’s room earlier.

“He’s waiting for you, my lady,” he said simply.

She nodded. “I’ll go see him. Sleep well, Jon.”

He nodded. “I shall see you on the morrow, Catelyn,” he said. He looked at her a long moment. “You looked very beautiful at dinner tonight, my lady.”

She felt the color rising in her cheeks. “Thank you, Jon.”

“Lord Stark is a most fortunate man.” With that, he kissed her hand formally and turned away, leaving her room without another sound.

She looked after him for a moment, guilt twisting her gut, but then turned and walked up into the passage. When she reached Ned’s room, he was once more sitting up in a chair. The expression on his face drove all thoughts of Jon Umber from her mind.

“Gods, Cat!” he exclaimed. “You are the most beautiful woman in the world,” he said, rising to walk toward her.

“You aren’t faint at all?” she asked him.

“I am not.” He took her in his arms, and kissed her until they were both a little breathless. “Perhaps, I am now,” he said, laughing a little.

“I am, too, now.” She looked down, suddenly shy of him. “Ned, do you think you could walk down the stairs if you lean on me?”

He looked puzzled. “I think so, but why?”

“Brynden is in my room, and . . .there are no guards outside my door . . .and” She felt the heat in her cheeks.

“And you don’t trust yourself to be silent,” he said and gave that low chuckling noise of his that always put her in mind of a wolf laughing. “I can walk down twenty staircases, my lady, to hear what you would have the guards not hear.”

Now her cheeks were on fire, but she looked up at him anyway. “Then come with me, my lord.”

They went slowly, but he didn’t have much trouble, and when they reached her chambers, he walked over to look down at Brynden in his crib before sitting down on her bed. He was breathing rather harder than usual, but otherwise seemed fine. “You have all your candles lit,” he said.

“Yes,” she breathed. She came and sat beside him, turning her back toward him. “Could you undo the laces, my lord?” She could feel his fingers tremble as he pulled at them, but he hadn’t forgotten how it was done. She stood up then and let the dress fall to the floor, leaving her in only her shift. Then she bent to pull his shirt over his head before pushing him back on the bed to tug off his breeches, leaving him only in his smallclothes.

He reached up for her then, pulling her down to him and kissing her once more, his fingers grabbing at the elaborate braids in her hair, tugging them loose. She laughed. “Shall I get you a brush, my lord?”

“I’d like that,” he said seriously. “I’d like it even more if you took off that shift.”

She looked at him and caught her breath as she spied the hardness already visible through his smallclothes. She wanted him so much, but she was hesitant to take off the shift. Her belly had not yet recovered from Brynden’s birth and sagged unattractively.

“Catelyn,” he said. “You are beautiful. Your body brought our babe into the world. Everything about you is beautiful to me.”

 _Gods, how does he read my mind?_ She took a deep breath and removed the shift and her smallclothes. Completely naked, she quickly turned her back on him and walked to the dressing table to retrieve her hairbrush. She walked back to him, and turning her back once more, she sat between his legs, handing him the brush.

He didn’t say anything, but for the next ten minutes or so, he took down every braid in her hair, running the brush and his fingers through it, only stopping to press kisses behind her ears and to the nape of her neck. She thought she might die of the joy of it, but gradually the need of him became too great, and she turned to face him, all thought of her imperfections gone from her mind as she pushed him back on the bed once more, kissing first his mouth, then his neck, feeling the rasp of his beard against her face. Then she covered his scarred chest with still more kisses as he responded with her name and incoherent sounds of pleasure. Finally she pulled his smallclothes off him, revealing his hard cock. She pressed a kiss there, and he gave a cry sharp enough that she laughed.

“And you worried about me remaining silent, my lord?” she asked him with a grin.

“Come here, Cat,” he growled, pulling her face back up toward his so that her opening was just above the tip of his cock. She gasped at the contact of it against her sensitive skin, and straddling him, she took him in her hand to guide him inside her. Both of them gasped as he filled her up, and when she started to move above him, with his hips jerking upward to meet hers, her last coherent thought was that she really was glad there was no one standing outside her door.

She did cry out softly when she came, and again as she felt him come inside her only seconds later. Then she collapsed onto his chest and lay there breathing heavily.

“I have dreamed of having you like this,” he said hoarsely after a moment. “Every night on that damned Wall. But no dream compares to holding you, Cat.”

She couldn’t speak, so she simply pressed another kiss to his chest and held him more tightly. Finally, she raised her head to look at him. “I suppose I should blow out the candles.”

He sighed heavily. “I suppose you should help me back to my room first.”

She shook her head. “No. Brynden will wake to eat long before anyone comes. I can help you back, then.”

He smiled at her. “As you wish, my lady.”

She rose then and hurriedly doused all the candles, returning then to his arms.

“Did Lord Umber tell you what we talked about?” he asked her.

“No.”

“Really. Do you want me to tell you?”

“No.” She rolled onto her stomach with her hands on his chest, and she rested her chin there to look up at him. “Ned, I don’t want to talk about White Walkers, Tyrells, Robb’s plans, Winterfell, or Jon Umber. We have to discuss all those things, I know, but not now. Right now . . .I have my husband back. Even if it’s only for right this moment, even if I have to let you go again for awhile . . .” Her voice broke. “I don’t want anything right now except you.”

He pulled his arms tightly around her and kissed the top of her head. “You have me, my love. You shall always have me.”

 _I hope so,_ she thought, and suddenly she was afraid. She wasn’t sure she could let him go again, and feared what would happen to them if she did. She shivered.

“Are you cold, Cat?”

“No,” she said. “I just . . .I don’t ever want to let you go.”

He didn’t respond to that because there was no response. He couldn’t tell her he wouldn’t go, and he couldn’t tell her it would be all right when he did. He had promised never to lie to her again. Instead he just pulled her even closer against him and kissed her some more.

After they had both been still and silent for a long while, she whispered, “I’m scared, Ned.”

He didn’t answer, and she realized he was asleep. She reached up and smoothed the hair away from his face, so like little Brynden’s in sleep, in spite of the lines and creases time and troubles had worn there. He was so thin. So exhausted. _Keep him_ _safe,_ she prayed to his gods and hers. _When he is out of my arms again, keep him safe._ Then she lay in the dark against her sleeping husband and waited for sleep herself.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to all of you who are reading and commenting. I appreciate every one of you very much, and I hope you continue to enjoy the story.


	8. Eddard

“There you go, my sweetling.”

Her soft words penetrated his dreams, and he became aware of movement beside him. Feeling the solid warmth of her snuggled up to him, he woke to the delicious realization he was truly in bed with his wife. Turning to look toward her, he could barely see the outline of her body beneath the furs as she lay on her side with her back against him, and he reached an arm around her waist to pull her hips tightly against the front of him. The feel of her naked flesh against his sent a jolt of desire through him, and he bent his head to find the tender skin of her neck with his lips, nuzzling his way through the tendrils of her hair.

She laughed deep in her throat, but her hand caught his, stopping its movement at her waist. “Careful, my lord,” she said softly. “Your son has a tendency to wail if he is interrupted before he gets his fill.”

“My son?” His sleepy mind took a moment to process her words, and her hand guided his hand to the swaddled form of Brynden tucked against her breast. The swell of joy at holding them both in his arms too quickly gave way to the full realization of where they were. “Should I go now, my love?” he asked.

“No!” she cried, her hand clutching his tightly. “Not yet, Ned. It is not morning yet, my love. Only the hour of the wolf. We have time, still.”

He raised himself up to look down at his wife and infant son. His eyes had grown accustomed enough to the dark to see her pale face. She looked sad and frightened, and he pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I shall stay as long you shall have me, Cat. I have no wish to leave your bed ever.”

He was rewarded with a tremulous smile. “Nor I yours, my lord,” she said softly. She raised her hand and indicated a chair near the cradle, over which was draped that thick fur robe Jon Umber had given her. “I normally feed him there. But I was cold . . .and I missed you.”

Ned’s jaw clenched involuntarily at the image of his wife lifting his son to her breast while wrapped in Jon Umber’s fur. He pushed that thought aside and focused on the barely discernible movement of Brynden’s little head as he suckled at Catelyn’s teat with remarkable vigor for such a tiny person. He’d seen her feed their child earlier, but had been more focused on the other man in the room and their discussion than on actually watching his son feed.

“He eats well, doesn’t he?” he asked her now.

“He’s a wolf,” she said, and he heard the smile in her voice. “He came into the world as ravenous as his brothers and sisters before him. You sire very fierce children, my lord.”

He laughed. “Well, the hungry part they may get from me. You know well enough that I like to be well fed. But ferocity--that’s the Tully in them, my lady, and don‘t you deny it.”

She laughed at him, and then pushed herself up to a sitting position in order to put Brynden over her shoulder as he had relinquished his hold on her nipple.

She shivered as the fur fell away from her, and Ned reached out to take their son. “Here, let me have him. Cover yourself back up before you freeze.”

She didn’t argue, simply handing him over and snuggling back down beneath the covers while Ned patted the babe softly until he burped. He then rose from the bed to settle the child back into his cradle, pausing there to look at his son’s sweet sleeping face, wondering how long it would be before he could call him son for all the world to hear.

“You haven’t forgotten.” He turned to see her sitting up in the bed again, looking at him.

“Forgotten what?” he asked, smiling.

“How to put a babe to bed. You were always so good with our babies, Ned. I remember it surprised me when you’d want to take Robb from me, for I’d always been told men had little use for their children until they grew a bit.”

He looked at her, so beautiful sitting there with her hair falling down all over her shoulders and the fur clutched around her against the cold. How had he ever believed he could possibly stop himself from wanting her? How could she forgive him for all the pain he’d caused her?

“I . . .I feared you wouldn’t want me to hold Robb,” he said. “Not after . . .” His voice trailed off.

“Don’t,” she said. “Please, Ned. Don’t talk of anything sad or hurtful. Not tonight.” She reached out her hand to him. “There is still time before dawn, my love. Come back to bed.”

He could see her eyes moving over his naked body as she said the last, and he grinned at her. “Perhaps I should sleep more, my lady. I am very tired.” His own eyes moved over her, the desire he’d felt when he’d first awakened returning in a rush.

“Tired,” she repeated. “Yes, you look very . . .tired, my lord.” Her eyes lingered over the visible evidence that his body was not interested in sleep, and her breath caught. She let the fur drop to the bed, revealing her breasts to him.

“Cat,” he said, almost growling her name as he moved back to the bed, sitting beside her and pushing her hair back from her face. “You told me it is the hour of the wolf, my love,” he whispered against her ear. “Surely, you know it is dangerous to bare so much tender flesh to a hungry wolf.”

He nipped at her earlobe, enjoying the little sound she made and the sharp intake of her breath. Then she turned her face to his, and with blue eyes mere inches from his own, she said with a smile, “I’m willing to risk it, my lord.”

This time, he pushed her down on her back, unconcerned with any weakness or exhaustion of his own. He wanted to take her, to possess her, to claim her as his and no one else’s. She seemed to understand his urgency, and pulled him down to her, opening her legs to him. He buried himself within her at once, and they both cried out. She clung tightly to him as he thrust deeply within her, seeking to drive away all thought of the long separations behind them and ahead of them in this one desperate joining of their bodies.

She arched her back, and he felt her tighten around him, driving him to his own breathless release, and then he collapsed onto her, panting hard and not certain he had the strength left to even roll off her. He felt almost ashamed at how little control he’d exercised, taking her so quickly and urgently. He had always taken his time with her, attending to her needs as much as his own, and he reached a hand up now to touch her face.

His fingertips brushed against moisture on her cheek, and he suddenly realized it was tears. Alarmed, he pushed himself upward to look at her. “Oh gods, Cat! Have I hurt you?”

He couldn’t raise up very far as her arms still encircled his back, and she tightened her grip on him. “No! No, my love. Not at all.” She moved her hands upward on his back to pull him back down onto her chest.

“Catelyn, you are crying. What’s wrong?” he asked her, desperate to know what pain he had caused her now.

She shook her head. “It’s nearly morning,” she said, her voice breaking. “I am not as brave as I would wish to be, my lord. I am sorry. I . . .I keep thinking of waking up to find you gone.”

 _Winterfell,_ he thought. _I held her while she cried, made love to her, and then left her alone without any farewell at all._ “You are brave, my lady,” he whispered, fearing his own voice might break. “You are far braver than I have been, but I swear to you I shall do better now.” She continued to hold him to her, but he knew he had to be crushing her so he rolled onto his back, pulling her with him so that she now rested against him with her head pillowed on his chest. “Every moment we are apart,” he promised her, “I shall be working toward returning to you once more. Believe that, my lady.”

She nodded against his chest. “I do,” she whispered. “I shall do the same.” She sighed then and raised her head to kiss his lips. “You must go now, I fear. The sky does begin to lighten.”

Her voice was steady, and he knew she had taken great effort to make it so. Gently, he untangled himself from her arms to sit up beside her. “Robb does not intend to leave for Winterfell until the morrow,” he said. “We shall speak more this day, and I shall come to you again this night, if you would have me.”

She sat up and pressed another kiss to his lips in answer, putting her arms around him once more. After a moment, he pushed himself away from her with a half smile. “I shall take that as an answer in the affirmative,” he said. “Yet, I fear you are correct that I must go now, and if you keep kissing me like that, I will not be able to do it.”

“Let me get my robe,” she said, scooting to the other edge of the bed.

“You needn’t rise, Cat. I am quite certain I can walk up one flight of stairs.” He was already bending to pick up his clothing from where she had discarded it on the floor. His head swam a little as he bent and then straightened up, but he didn’t feel too unsteady.

“Nonsense,” she replied, already pulling the thick fur robe onto her arms. “I honestly don’t think you understand how close you came to dying, Ned. Your strength is not anywhere near recovered. You’ve already been up once with Brynden, and . . .you weren’t exactly resting just now.”

He smiled to see the color rise in her cheeks as she said the last, loving that she still blushed so easily, even after all these years. “And those steps are steep, my love, even if the passage is short,” she continued.

He held up his hands in defeat. “Very well, my lady. I learned long ago not to argue with a Tully.”

She merely shook her head at him, waiting for him to finish dressing. Then she took his arm and led him behind the tapestry on the wall of her room. By the time they reached the top of the irregularly cut stone stairs in the hidden passage between their rooms, he was quite out of breath and grateful for her steady arm to lean on.

She helped him into his bed, and he held on to her hand as she started to move away. “Catelyn,” he said. He stopped then, unsure of what else he could say, unsure if any words could express all that he felt, all that he needed her to know. “I . . .I am glad the gods saw fit to have me found and brought here to you.” He swallowed hard. “To see you again . . .hold you . . .to see Sansa and Robb . . .and Brynden, gods! Just to know of Brynden!” He stopped again, overwhelmed by the inadequacy of mere words.

She sat down then, touching his face with her free hand. “You needn’t say any more, my love. I know,” she said softly.

“No,” he said quietly, shaking his head. “You don’t. I have always tried to live my life with honor. I find that I’ve seldom succeeded.” She started to protest, and he squeezed the hand he held to silence her. “Whatever reasons I have had for decisions I’ve made or actions I’ve taken, I cannot deny that I have lied to my wife, abandoned my family, and abdicated my responsibilities as the Lord of Winterfell.”

“Ned, you cannot . . .”

“Let me speak,” he said sternly. “I swear to you, my lady, that I will not do any of those things again. I have so long prided myself on being a man of my word that I’ve let words imprison me. I’ve allowed vows made to those who deserve nothing keep me from honoring promises to the very people that I should hold above all others. I cannot change the past. I cannot remove us from the peril we now find ourselves in. But know this, Catelyn. While we are parted, my every thought will be on how to bring us all together at Winterfell once again. This is my vow to you, and it is the one vow I shall hold most sacred.”

Moisture glistened in her eyes, but she did not cry. She looked directly at him and said, “I will do everything you ask of me, my love. I will protect our children with every breath in my body, Ned. I swear it. And I will wait for you. In Last Hearth or Winterfell or wherever I need be. I will wait for you.”

He did not deserve her. “I do not know how long it will be. But only death will keep me from coming to you,” he said hoarsely. Unable to speak any more, he pulled her to him for one more kiss before she slipped behind the armoire and left him alone in the grey light of dawn.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

“But I know I can trust Theon, Father,” Robb protested. “He fought fiercely beside me in the Whispering Wood. Balon Greyjoy may have little interest in overtures from Galbart Glover or Maege Mormont, but surely he could be swayed by his own son.”

Ned sighed. He was beyond exhausted. Jon Umber had arrived in his room no more than an hour after Catelyn had left him there, and they’d discussed her imminent departure for Winterfell. Both men finally agreed it would be best if Jon traveled with her, although Ned suspected their motivations were slightly different. He forced himself to consider rationally the benefits of having Lord and Lady Umber arrive at Winterfell together and realized that for a number of reasons Catelyn and Brynden would both be better off accompanied by their putative husband and father. That didn’t mean he liked it.

Jon had also told him more about the meeting he, Galbart, and Maege had had with some Iron Islanders just before Catelyn had summoned them all to Winterfell. He had heard a bit about it from both Jon and Robb the day before, but most of their discussion time then had been spent upon the various factions vying for power in King‘s Landing and the Targaryen girl with her dragons in East. Robb had assured him the reports of dragons came from reliable sources, and Ned found himself inclined to believe them. After all, if the Others had returned, why not dragons as well? As to the Iron Islanders, “There are a few reasonable men among those reavers,” the Greatjon had proclaimed, “but precious few, and not enough to sway Balon Greyjoy to do anything he doesn’t want. I‘d not look to them for much aid, my lord.”

Apparently, some of those “more reasonable” ironborn had indicated Balon Greyjoy actually had intended to attack the North prior to Ned’s confession and Robb’s subsequent deal with the Lannisters that brought him home to Winterfell along with his sisters. The Lord of the Seastone Chair had devised a plan to send longships up the Fever River and take Moat Cailin, effectively trapping Robb and his forces in the south. Fortunately, he had not had time to implement that attack before Ned’s acceptance of Cersei Lannister’s terms had sent all the northmen back to their homes.

Now, Robb sat before him discussing Ironmen as well, but with a much more optimistic attitude than Jon had held. Theoretically, Robb and Sansa were taking their midday meal with Catelyn, but in fact, Ned had come down to Catelyn’s room as well. Only Rickon’s absence had marred the sweetness of sharing a meal with his wife and children before they all left Last Hearth, and Ned had cherished every moment of it. Now, however, all conversation had turned to strategy.

“It is not a matter of trust, Robb,” Ned said in response to his son’s remarks about Theon Greyjoy. “Lord Balon will not accept any offer young Theon brings him on our behalf.”

“How can you know that, Father? I had intended to offer him . . .”

“That’s just it, Robb. You intend to _offer_ him.” Ned frowned, wondering how best to explain the Greyjoys of Pyke to his son. “Greyjoys do not accept offers. They do not receive gifts. They do not bargain.”

“They do not sow,” Catelyn interjected flatly.

Ned smiled at her briefly. “Precisely, my lady. They only take. They consider that their right. Have you heard of the ‘iron price,’ Robb?” he asked.

Robb thought for a moment, frowning. “It has to do with the spoils of war, doesn’t it? Paying the iron price means to take something from an enemy.”

Ned nodded. “Yes, and it is the only price a true Iron Islander considers honorable. Laboring with your hands to earn goods or coin is not respected. Diplomacy is a form of sowing, if you think about it, Robb--sowing good will, laboring together for mutual benefit. That does not come naturally to a Greyjoy. It does not occur to Balon Greyjoy at all.”

“But . . .Theon’s not like that!” Robb protested. “He knows my plan is a good one. It’s good for his father as well as us!”

Ned shook his head. “Theon has been raised in Winterfell since he was ten years old, Robb. I fear he knows more of our ways than his own people’s. That will hardly count in his favor with his father. Balon Greyjoy is a cold man, a cruel man in many ways, but he is not stupid. He may have no affection or respect for Theon, but he would not hand his seat to his brothers while he has a son. Any grudging help we might receive from him will come only from fear I would put the boy to death. Theon must be kept close enough to make that a viable threat.”

“You would never do that, Father!” Robb protested. “You couldn’t just kill Theon.”

Ned sighed heavily. “Wouldn’t I?” He rubbed his face with his hands and looked at his son wearily. “Robert Baratheon swore to Balon Greyjoy that Theon’s life was forfeit if he ever took up arms again against the Iron Throne. He gave the boy into my safekeeping and had me swear the same to his father. Lord Balon called himself a king. He has no love for any of us in the Seven Kingdoms who deny him that title. And he hated us for defeating him. You may call Robert’s use of Theon cruel, Robb, but you cannot deny it was effective. For ten years, the Iron Islanders left our coast in peace, and I assure you that was not for love of us. Only with Robert dead and myself in prison, did Balon Greyjoy make this plan of his. He certainly believed I would kill Theon. He must believe it of you, as well. That is the only use you can make of Theon Greyjoy with his father.”

Robb’s face was pale, but he made no new arguments for sending Theon to treat with Balon Greyjoy. Ned hoped his son had understood him well enough. Being Lord of Winterfell was not an easy task. Plotting against the current occupant of the Iron Throne without endangering all of the North was an almost impossible task. Ned remembered well how terrified he’d been when he’d set out from the Vale to call his banners against Aerys Targaryen. He had doubted himself constantly, and he’d been older than Robb was now.

“I don’t know where to find help, Father,” Robb said quietly now, looking downward. “Danaerys Targaryen and her dragons may one day be a force to be reckoned with, but for now, she is far away . . .and not disposed to think kindly of us, I fear.”

“The Usurper’s Dog,” Ned said darkly, and Robb’s head snapped up. Ned actually laughed. “The Greatjon does not mince words, son. He told me the girl’s name for me. I was a leader in a rebellion that ended with her parents and one brother dead, and she and her other brother in exile. She has no reason to love me, Robb. Yet, she has far more reason to hate the Lannisters, whether she knows all the truth of that or not. Stay informed on her movements and plans. Communicate with her people in whatever small ways you are able. The enemy of your enemy can sometimes become a better ally than a long time friend. She may yet find reason to make common cause with us.”

“Stannis Baratheon has most reason to support you,” Catelyn said. “Unfortunately, I fear he doesn’t have the power to make his support worth much at present. He claims the throne, but he cannot take it. And if he finds a way to take it, can he hold it against dragons? If the Targaryen girl brings her beasts against the Seven Kingdoms, it could be like Aegon the Conqueror all over again.”

“With Robb or myself playing the part of Torrhen,” Ned said grimly.

Sansa had been very quiet while these discussions had taken place, but now she said softly, “I would welcome dragons if they would rid us of Joffrey.”

The expression on his daughter’s face startled Ned. He started to ask Sansa more about Joffrey Baratheon, but Catelyn put a hand over his in warning. “Well, dragons will come or they won’t,” she said. “We certainly don’t have any say in it. And at the moment, we don’t even know where Stannis Baratheon is. We can simply work on solidifying support for action against the Lannisters among the northmen, the Riverlands, and hopefully the Vale, although my sister still refuses to answer my letters. She was so frightened and strange when I was there with Tyrion Lannister. I fear any help from the Vale may come in spite of her rather than with her blessing.”

Ned nodded. He had spoken with Catelyn only a little of her visit to the Eyrie. Gods knew the two of them had needed to discuss other things in their limited time together, but Jon Umber had certainly alluded to odd behavior on the part of Lysa Arryn.

“You should probably go, Robb,” Ned said. “You have a lot to do if you plan to leave early on the morrow. I hope to leave for the Wall by next week. Lord Umber says the same two men who brought me here have consented to escort me to Castle Black. I know the one already knows my identity, and likely the other does as well, so traveling with them will be less a chore than if I had to make something up.”

“Three men? And you not at full strength?” Catelyn asked in some alarm. “Gods be good, Ned, you need a larger company than that!”

“They brought me here with no other men, Cat. And I was undoubtedly more difficult to transport then.” He smiled at her. “I’m only a crow, my love, being sent back to the Wall. I am not a high lord or lady to be sent with a full escort. A good number of Lord Umber’s men will ride with you, and I’d rather all the rest remain here in the Smalljon’s command in case he should have need of them while his father is at Winterfell. The men I ride with travel this way frequently, and I shall be quite safe with them.”

She didn’t look remotely reassured, but she only bit her lip and remained silent as Robb rose to leave and Ned rose to walk to his son.

“Keep your mother, and your sisters and brothers safe, Robb. Take care of your wife and the babe she carries. I left Winterfell in your hands, and you have done admirably as lord. You have a quick mind and a brave heart, son. I could ask for no more than what you have done, and I am proud of you.”

“I wish you were coming with us,” Robb said almost inaudibly, looking younger to Ned than he had since his arrival at Last Hearth.

“So do I, but you will do well enough without me. Listen to your mother’s counsel, and to the counsel of others you deem worthy. Then make your own decisions. You are the Lord of Winterfell, Robb. Do not fear to set a course and act upon it.”

“I would have sent Theon to Balon Greyjoy,” Robb said quietly, “Even though Mother told me not to.”

Ned smiled at his son. “And then you would have dealt with whatever that course of action wrought. You will not always know precisely what to do, Robb, but you must do something. I have made decisions I regret bitterly, but they were mine to make, and I did the best I could at the time. You must do the same, and if you consider your decisions carefully, I promise you will choose rightly more often than not.”

“I will do my best, Father,” Robb said then, looking Ned directly in the eyes and speaking in a clear voice.

“I know you will, son.” Ned embraced his firstborn son tightly and then watched him quickly take leave of Catelyn and Sansa before striding from the room.

“Should I go look for Rickon?” Sansa asked then.

Catelyn shook her head. “He won’t be back yet. Smalljon took him riding, and they’ll likely be gone til nearly dark.” Turning toward Ned, she said, “Rickon’s gotten very attached to Smalljon Umber. He’s excited about going to Winterfell, but he’s rather upset at the prospect of leaving his new big brother behind. The horseback excursion is Smalljon’s way of cheering him up.”

Ned nodded. “He’s a good man, like his father.” His voice sounded tighter than he intended, but he couldn’t help resenting the fact that the Umbers spent time with his son every day while he couldn’t even see him once before hundreds of miles once more separated them. Having Rickon in Last Hearth and not seeing him in some ways seemed even more painful than having Bran and Arya beyond his reach at Winterfell.

“You are going back to bed, my lord,” Catelyn said then. “You have been up a long time, and you need your rest.”

“I’m not a complete invalid, Catelyn, but I imagine I should get back to my own room.” Lowering his voice slightly, he added, “And I fear perhaps I did undersleep a bit last night.”

Her cheeks colored just as he had intended them to do, and he smiled as she turned back to Sansa. “I shall help your father back to his bed, sweetling. Since Marta isn’t here, would you stay with Brynden until I return? I won’t be long.”

“Of course, Mother,” Sansa replied. She came to stand in front of Ned, and her eyes filled with tears. “I don’t think I’ll get to see you again before we go, Father. I’ll miss you terribly. I’m so, so sorry you can’t come home with us.”

Ned pulled her to him and held her tightly. It was the first time he’d hugged her with both of them standing, and it startled him how close she was now to her mother’s height. “I’ll miss you, too, my sweet girl. But we’ll be together again, gods willing.”

She started crying in earnest as she held onto him, and he just stood there holding onto her while Catelyn stood slightly apart, watching them with tears in her own eyes. Finally, he put his hand under his daughter’s chin and tipped it up so that she faced him. “Be brave, Sansa, as I know you are. Take care of your mother and your new little brother for me. And when this Willas Tyrell arrives at Winterfell, you make certain he treats you with respect, for you are the finest maiden in all Seven Kingdoms. If he doesn’t understand that, he can turn around and ride back to the Reach. All right?”

She laughed a little through her tears and nodded. “Yes, Father,” she said.

“That’s my girl.” He kissed her cheek once more before turning to Catelyn. “I am ready for you to assist me up those godsforsaken steps, my lady.”

Catelyn smiled at the two of them, squeezed Sansa’s hand quickly, and led him once more to the little passage behind the tapestry, as he closed his eyes trying to fix his daughter’s image in his mind.

“Here,” she said, once they emerged from behind the armoire in his room. “Sit down and let me take your boots off. Then you can lie down awhile.”

“I’m tired of lying in bed,” he groused, although he was more than willing to sit. The climb up the stairs had not winded him quite as badly this time, but it still irritated him to be winded at all. “Unless, of course, you care to join me, my lady.”

She laughed. “You know perfectly well that I cannot. I have a million things to do before the evening meal. I’m afraid there’s to be another feast of sorts in the Hall to wish us all farewell.” He must have scowled at that for she laughed again. “I promise to escape to my chambers as soon as possible, my love. I have no wish to spend this evening with anyone but you.”

“I am glad to hear it,” he said. She had his boots off and now was lifting his legs up onto the bed. “Cat,” he said, as she arranged pillows and coverings around him, “You will watch Theon Greyjoy carefully, won’t you? He is not a bad man, and he does care for Robb, but he is resentful of his lot in life and eager to prove himself. I fear that if Robb has spoken to him of going to treat with Balon and now tells him he must stay at Winterfell, the boy will not take it kindly.”

Catelyn frowned. “He is not a boy,” she said grimly. “He is older than Robb, and he does not forget that. Robb is Lord of Winterfell, and Theon resents him for it even as he loves him. I’ve cautioned Robb of this before, but . . .” She shook her head. “I fear he views him as a brother, and he will not hear that he may not be fully trusted. I believe your reasoning carried more weight with Robb than anything I have said to him. But I will watch him closely, my lord. I would not have our son repeat my mistakes.”

“Your mistakes?” Ned asked her, puzzled.

She looked down at him. “Petyr,” she said simply. “I once considered him my brother, just as Robb does Theon. I trusted him when I should not have, and it has cost us far too much.”

Ned shook his head. “Do not trouble yourself over Littlefinger, Cat. There is apparently no limit to his deception, and he played me as well as he played you. I suspect he played Jon Arryn as well, and that man was no fool.” He pulled her down to sit beside him on the bed. “He shall answer to me one day, my lady. I promise you that. There are too many questions left unanswered about his part in all this.”

“There are too many unanswered questions about his part in many things,” Catelyn said pensively, and his puzzlement must have shown on his face, for she smoothed his brow with her hand. “I only think on things my father said, during the time I was at Riverrun. He was very ill, and his mind had begun to wander, but sometimes . . .” She shook her head. “Once you confessed, everything happened rather quickly, and I had to leave for Winterfell, and then, of course . . .”

Lord Hoster had died not long after Catelyn came north again. Ned remembered that now. He had not even offered her his sympathies on the old man’s passing. “I am sorry, Cat, about your father. He was a good man,” he told her.

She nodded. “A good man,” she repeated, “but like all men, I fear he kept his secrets, and now I may never know the truths he hid from me.” She looked directly at Ned then, her face almost expressionless, but he could see the question in her blue eyes.

“You know all my secrets now, my lady. I keep nothing from you, and I never shall again.”

She looked at him a moment longer and then nodded. “I must go, my love. I promised Sansa I would not be long.”

“Come to me tonight.”

She nodded again, but this time, she smiled. He looked after her as she left, wondering if she could ever completely trust him and hoping devoutly that she could.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

Catelyn’s head lay against his shoulder, and she lazily traced patterns on his chest with her long fingers as he ran his own fingers through her hair, lifting the fiery tresses up and allowing them to slide between his fingers falling onto the pillow behind her. Their breathing had quieted finally, and his heart no longer raced, but still they lay tangled together, not speaking.

The evening had passed by excruciatingly slowly. Marta had brought his dinner to him and stayed with him while he ate, although he no longer required her assistance with his meals. They hadn’t spoken much, but Ned liked the old woman well enough because she seemed truly devoted to Catelyn. Of course, she was devoted to Greatjon Umber as well, but Ned supposed he couldn’t fault her for that.

“We shall miss Lord and Lady Umber around here,” she had said as she took his empty dishes from him to place back on her tray. “And the wee one. Little Brynden is a sweet babe.”

Ned’s fleeting irritation at the name ‘Lady Umber’ disappeared as he beheld Marta’s smile when she spoke of his son. “He is that. His temperament reminds me more of Sansa’s or Bran’s than Arya’s as a babe, regardless of his looks.” Realizing suddenly what he had said in this unguarded moment, he looked sharply at the older woman.

“Have a care, Lord Stark,” she said, not unkindly, as she continued to move dishes about on the tray without looking at him. “Not everyone in Last Hearth is as slow as I am.”

He smiled at her, realizing that her uncharacteristic use of his name was meant as a reminder of his situation. While both of them knew she was aware of his identity as well as the paternity of his son and likely the status of both of Catelyn’s marriages, they did not speak of it.

“You are far from slow, Marta,” he had told her. “Lord Umber is most fortunate to have you in his service. As is Lady Catelyn . . .and her babe. I am grateful for the care you‘ve given me as well.”

She had looked up at him then. “I’ve served the Umbers longer than you’ve been alive, my lord. I care for you at Lord Umber’s direction.

“I understand that, Marta,” Ned had told her. “I understand it very well, and still I am grateful.”

The woman had only nodded courteously to him then, but just before leaving she had turned to him. “Lady Umber took Brynden to the Hall with her tonight.”

“Did she?”

“Folks like to see him, and since they’re leaving on the morrow . . . Anyway, since the babe is with her, I won’t be in her chambers this evening. Nor will anyone else.”

Ned had raised his eyebrows slightly.

“And I suspect my lady will leave the feast early, what with having the babe to put down and having to rise early on the morrow to travel.” She’d paused for a moment, and Ned had kept his face carefully blank. “Good night, my lord,” she had said then and turned to open the door, greeting his guards as she walked out.

He’d taken the woman at her word and slipped through the passage to await Catelyn’s arrival not long after Marta left him. When he’d heard someone outside the door, he’d known a brief moment of worry that she’d been accompanied to her chambers by Jon Umber, but she’d stepped into the room alone, save for the babe in her arms.

She’d drawn in her breath, and her eyes had widened slightly when she saw him, but she had smiled and stepped into his arms wordlessly for a kiss. She smelled of woodsmoke and roasted herbs and tasted of wine, and as his tongue and lips met hers, he’d felt truly alive for the first time since she’d left his room earlier.

“The babe,” she’d said, pulling back from him, panting slightly. “I have to feed him.”

Ned tried very hard not to begrudge his son the need for nourishment, and he held the child as Catelyn settled herself onto a chair and undid the laces at the front of her dress. Once he handed Brynden to her, he’d stood behind her and rubbed her shoulders as the baby suckled.

“Mmm,” she’d hummed, leaning her head back against him. “That feels divine.”

“You are tense, my love,” he’d murmured.

She’d made a low, almost laughing sound then. “I can’t imagine why. What have I to be concerned about?”

Looking down at her had taken his breath away. Her hair was braided back away from her face, but fell loose in the back, cascading down in front of him now. Her eyes were closed and her lips parted slightly. The angle of her head resting against his belly displayed the pulse in her pale neck and below that her full, white breasts were displayed to his view. Brynden was firmly attached to one nipple and suckling vigorously, but the other looked in need of attention, and Ned had moved one hand down from her shoulder to cup it gently.

She had inhaled sharply and opened those sky blue eyes to gaze up at him. “Ned,” she’d said simply, and he’d laughed at her expression, regretfully returning his hand to her shoulder. They hadn’t spoken any further while Brynden fed, and in spite of his desire for her, he had been content to massage her shoulders and watch her attend to their son’s needs. Both his wife and son were beautiful, and he found himself closing his eyes to commit the image of them together like this to his memory, just as he had done earlier with Sansa.

When Brynden was sated, he had lifted his son from his wife’s arms and held him up to his own shoulder, feeling the impossibly sweet weight of him on his chest. Gently, he patted the small back, and watched as Catelyn took down the braids in her hair and brushed it out. When she returned to him, he’d surrendered their little boy to her arms, pulling his shirt and breeches off as she kissed Brynden’s forehead and laid him in the cradle.

He’d taken his time with the laces in the back of the dress, kissing her neck, and pausing to caress her already free breasts. When she’d finally stepped free from the dress and shift, he’d gone to his knees to remove her smallclothes, caressing her hips and legs as he lowered the garment to the floor.

Neither had said a word, but they had both seemed to feel the need to touch every part of the other. With hands, lips, and tongues, they’d taken the time they’d been too desperate to take the night before, and explored each other slowly, making every touch, every kiss last as long as they could before finally giving in to the need for each other that had built beyond their ability to hold back any longer.

Now, afterward, they lay together as they had more times than he could count, still silent, and still needing to touch each other even after the storm of passion had been spent. Yet, this night was not like others spent together. When dawn came, she would go, and he did not know when he would hold her again. She had wept at the prospect last night, and he found himself almost wishing he could weep now. Perhaps tears could relieve the pressure that lay upon his heart like a stone at the thought of what daylight would bring.

She shifted slightly so that she could look up at his face. “I do not want to go to sleep,” she said.

He smiled at her. “I would stay awake with you all night as well, my lady, but I would not have you fall out of your saddle tomorrow. Sleep, my love, and let me hold you while you dream.”

“I don’t want to dream,” she insisted. “No dream can be as sweet as this, and soon dreams are all I will have.”

“You will be home, Cat, and you will have our children with you. All of our children.” The thought of all six of his children being together for the first time, and being in Winterfell with Catelyn gave him comfort, in spite of the fact that he would not be with them.

“And you will be on the Wall. Where those creatures from the north could attack you.”

“I will take very good care of myself, my lady. I promise you.”

She sat up then and looked down at him. “No heroics, Ned. No more valiant stands to let others escape. No sacrificing yourself for honor and glory or whatever else men throw themselves away for. You have much to come home to, my love. We need you to come home. I need you.”

He looked up at the beautiful face with the fierce expression and pleading blue eyes. “I cannot hide from trouble as a craven, Cat,” he said softly. “But I will not intentionally place myself in harm’s way. I promise you that I want to come home to you and the children even more than you want me there.”

She smiled at him then, although the fierceness did not leave her face. “As much perhaps, but not more. It could not be more.”

She lay back down, and he pulled her to him once more. “Tell me of Bran and Arya,” he said. “I know you haven’t seen them since coming here, but I long to hear something of them, and we haven’t had the chance to speak much of Winterfell.”

He heard her swallow. “Bran does as well as he might, with his injury. He loves riding his horse, his Dancer, with the specially made saddle. Robb has him sit with him frequently in the Great Hall, and when he brought Sansa here, when Brynden was first born, he told me that Bran takes very seriously being the Stark in Winterfell whenever Robb must leave. He said I would be proud of him.”

Ned chuckled softly. “And did you tell him you are always proud of Bran?” She made a soft sound against him, and he realized it was a sob.

“Catelyn,” he said, suddenly concerned about her. “What is it?”

“They don’t know,” she said. “They don’t know about Brynden. That he is their true brother, a Stark. They do not know why I married Jon, and Bran cried so when I told him I was leaving.” She raised up enough to look at him again. “Do not think badly of him, Ned. He was very brave. But he’s only a little boy, and he worried about you, and . . .and I couldn’t tell him.”

“Hush,” he said, holding her tightly. “Of course, I do not think badly of him. And you did rightly. They were too young for such a secret, my love.” He clenched his jaw tightly at the thought of how terrible it must have been for her to leave Winterfell with such a lie between herself and her children. He knew something of how that felt, and he hated himself for putting her in that position. “And Arya?” he asked after a moment.

“She hates me,” Catelyn whispered. “She hasn’t spoken to me since I told her of the marriage. She did not come to the godswood to see it, and she would not tell me farewell.” Now, she buried her face in his chest and sobbed against him. He didn’t try to speak for a long time. He only held her and let her cry until her sobs finally began to ease.

“She doesn’t hate you, Cat,” he said then. “She is angry. She feels betrayed. I would imagine you understand that.” He paused then and kissed the top of her head. “But she could never hate you. Not truly. I know that.”

“I told her I loved her and that only death would keep me from coming back.”

“And now you are going back.” He hesitated, but then said what he knew to be true. “And Catelyn, Arya and Bran will know the truth of things once they see Brynden. They are young, but they are not blind, and you will not be able to lie to them. Perhaps that will make things better or perhaps only more complicated and dangerous for everyone, but I cannot imagine they will not know, and you will have to deal with that.”

She nodded against him. “I will, my love. I told you I would care for our children, and I will. You must take care of yourself.”

“You have my word on it, my lady. Beginning tomorrow, my priority is taking care of myself, that I might return to Winterfell and be your lord husband in all ways.”

“Beginning tomorrow?”

“Tonight, I shall take care of you. Don’t argue with me, Cat. I have only this night so let me have it. Sleep, my love. Sleep, and I shall hold you and keep you safe.”

She did sleep, although not for a long time. They were mostly silent after that, and what hushed conversations they did have were not of great importance, but rather brief utterances born of the desire to hear each other’s voices again. When Brynden stirred in his cradle before dawn, it was Ned who rose to get him, bringing him lie beside his mother. After he fed, it was Ned who laid him back down, and this time, he could scarcely bear to take his hands away from his youngest son.

He did not return to her bed, but kissed her softly, telling her to remain there. She did not argue, and he saw the tears in her eyes. He knew she did not wish to cry in front of him, just as he knew she would cry as soon as he had left.

“I will come bid you farewell before we go,” she said.

He’d nodded and turned away back to his room.

He’d lain in that cold, empty bed and watched the sun rise. He heard the sounds of the castle waking, and then the unmistakable bustle of a great many people preparing to depart. A serving girl, not Marta, had brought his breakfast and then gone. Another hour passed at least, but still he did not see Catelyn. He began to wonder if she had decided it would be too difficult. Perhaps, they had already said their farewells.

He had barely formulated the thought when she was there, stepping from behind the armoire, hair braided down her back and wearing riding breeches and a traveling cloak.

“Cat,” he said, going to hold her at once. She flew into his arms, trembling as her fingers clutched tightly at his back. He closed his eyes and was suddenly back in King’s Landing, in Littlefinger’s brothel. That was the last time he had told her farewell, he realized, for he had left her after their one night in Winterfell with no goodbye.

“I fear for you, my love,” she whispered.

“I know,” he said. “I would spare us both this parting if I could, my lady, but you know that I cannot.”

She nodded. “Find a way to write to me. Please, my love. I need to hear that you reach Castle Black safely. I need to know that you are well.”

“I will find a way,” he assured her. He pressed a kiss to her lips, and then looked at her, remembering all that had happened to her, to all of them, since he had last sent her riding for Winterfell that long ago day in King’s Landing. _How do I let her go again?_

She couldn’t let go either. She held him as tightly as when she’d first grabbed him, and he kissed her fiercely once more.

“Catelyn.” The sound of her name came from behind the armoire, in the deep voice of Jon Umber. They broke the kiss at the sound of it, but still did not let go of each other.

The big man, also dressed for travel, came into the room, attempting to look anywhere but at the two of them. “Forgive me, my lord, my lady. But we must go.”

Catelyn nodded, slowly releasing Ned from her grasp. He pulled his own arms from around her and grasped her hands. He looked at the hands he held, carefully regarding the old scars there. They were much better healed than they had been in King’s Landing, but they would never be as they once were, and that wounded him more deeply than the loss of his own finger. “Go, my love. Go to our children.”

“Stay safe, my love,” she whispered. Then she pulled her hands from his and turned to Jon Umber. “I am ready, my lord,” she said steadily, and walked past him into the passage.

“Jon,” Ned said sharply, as Umber himself turned to go.

“My lord?” he asked, turning back to Ned.

“Keep her safe,” Ned growled. “Catelyn. My children. I am trusting you with all that is precious to me.”

His bannerman looked at him steadily. “You need not tell me Lady Catelyn’s worth, my lord. I shall give my life for her if need be. No harm shall come to her or your children if I can prevent it.”

Ned nodded. “Thank you,” he said simply.

Jon nodded in return and followed Catelyn out of the room. Ned stood for a long while staring at the passage that his wife would not come through again.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

“There’s yer Castle Black, milord,” Agger Snow pointed at some point of swirling snow ahead of them that looked no different than any other point of swirling snow to Ned’s eyes.

“If you say so, Agger. I confess I don’t see it, but you haven’t taken a wrong turn yet.”

The big man laughed, sounding so much like the Greatjon that Ned once again was struck by how obvious this bastard uncle’s heritage was to anyone knowing the Umbers even slightly. _It will be the same for Brynden,_ he thought miserably. _I cannot leave Catelyn in this position too long._

Edd Woodheart rode back to them. He’d scouted ahead a short way. “No riders ahead of us. The path’s not bad. Looks like there’s been plenty traffic not too long past to firm it down. Some deep drifts, but we ought to make the crows’ castle by nightfall.” Woodheart had a quieter voice than Agger Snow, but was more likely to engage Ned in conversation. As Ned had suspected both men knew who he was. Apparently, he had talked a lot in his delirium as they’d hauled him to Last Hearth.

“It was clear who you were, milord,” Edd had told told him, “but Lord Umber said I wasn’t to talk about it, and Agger, he never goes into the castle anyway, so who would he tell?”

“Did Lord Umber tell you why he wished my identity to remain secret?” Ned had asked, wondering just how much these men knew.

“No, milord, and I didn’t ask. None of my business what the lord wants or doesn’t want said. He pays me fairly for the game I bring him and never does me no harm.”

Agger Snow had started laughing at that. “Edd told me that Lady Umber’s new babe is the spittin’ image of you, milord.”

“Hush yer mouth, man! You got no cause to talk like that!” Woodheart had sputtered, but Snow had only laughed louder.

“He said Lady Umber had screamed and thrown herself right on top of ye when he carried ye into the room there at Last Hearth. And you kept talking about a woman called Catelyn all the way to the castle. I reckon that might explain him not wanting anybody to know who ye were.”

Ned had stayed silent, not really knowing how to respond to that, and Edd Woodheart and been redfaced and silent with embarrassment.

“Look, milord,” Agger had said after a moment. “I got no stake in what Lord Umber’s doing with yer wife, or you with his, or whatever it is. I got no stake with the Umbers at all. Lord Jon seems a decent enough man, and like Edd says, he pays fair enough for work well done. Nobody’ll hear what I just I told you from me.” He grinned then. “Figured you oughta hear it, though.”

None of them had mentioned Catelyn again, and while both men occasionally called him by name, he was usually just ‘milord.’ The rest of the trip passed almost pleasantly, as the weather remained reasonably fair until today, and the two men were excellent hunters, keeping them well fed. Ned tired far more easily than he would like, but he had used the six days after Catelyn’s departure with Jon and their children to eat as much as he could stomach and work on building up his stamina. Smalljon Umber had not argued with him when he’d insisted he was ready to leave himself.

After several more hours of riding, even Ned could make out manmade structures in the snow ahead of them, and he began to recognize the outlines most outlying buildings of Castle Black. He also began to hear sounds of habitation.

“What in damnation is all that?” Agger Snow swore beside him, and Ned realized they were approaching men and horses in fairly large numbers well before he had expected to do so.

“Who goes there?” a man shouted, riding through the snow to meet them. He was not a man of the Night’s Watch. He wore an odd sigil with a flaming heart that Ned had never seen.

“Eddard Stark,” he called out clearly. “A man of the Night’s Watch, wounded in battle and now returning to Castle Black.”

“Eddard Stark? Bloody hell!” The man turned to shout behind him. “His grace will want to hear about this. I’ve got Eddard Stark here!”

A voice called out, “Well, we’d better bring him to King Stannis, then.”

_King Stannis? Stannis Baratheon was at the Wall?_

As Ned tried to make sense of it, another voice, more hesitant spoke up. They had moved closer to the group of men and horses now, and Ned could see that this new speaker did wear the black of the Watch. He was on foot rather than mounted, and he was rather fat. _I know him,_ Ned thought.

“No . . .no, my lords,” the fat boy was saying. “Lord . . I mean Eddard Stark is a man of the Watch. He needs to come with us first, and then I’m sure he’ll be happy to speak to Lord . . .I mean King Stannis.”

The boy walked over and smiled up at Ned on his horse. _Tarly,_ Ned thought. _He’s Randyll Tarly’s son. Jon’s friend. He was at the Fist._

“You made it back,” Ned said. “How many made it back with you? Where is Lord Commander Mormont?”

The Tarly boy looked distressed and shook his head. “A few of us made it, my lord. I . . You should talk to Jon.”

“What is Stannis Baratheon doing here?” Ned pressed on, not really hearing the boy‘s words. “How many men does he have? I should talk to . . .Jon?” Ned fell silent as he realized what Tarly had said.

“Yes, my lord,” Tarly said, smiling now. “He’ll be beyond glad to see you. We’d given you up for dead. Well, we’d given Jon up for dead, too, but then he came back, and he led the battle against the wildlings, and then Lord . . .King Stannis’s men came and . . .”

“He came back?” Ned interrupted. “Jon . . .my Jon . . .he came back? He is alive?”

“Oh, yes, Lord Stark. He’s right up here. I’ll take you to him now.”

 _Jon is alive._ The thought filled Ned with more hope than he’d felt since Catelyn’s departure. _Jon is alive._ Perhaps the gods had decided to smile upon him. Perhaps the solution to their difficulties could be found sooner than he'd feared. Whatever else the future might bring, he held tightly to this unexpected gift and dismounted to follow the Tarly boy who would lead him to the young man he still thought of only as his son.


	9. Catelyn

A light snow fell as the walls of Winterfell became visible before them. Catelyn, riding near the front with Robb, felt her heart lift at the sight of her home. It had been a long, cold, uncomfortable journey from Last Hearth, and while she’d kept Brynden well swaddled against her, within her outer layers of clothing at virtually all times day and night, she couldn’t help but worry for him. He was so young and small to make such a journey. She looked at the young man who rode beside her and recalled bringing him to Winterfell in a similar fashion; but they had ridden from the south then, winter had been waning rather than coming on, and he had been a few moons older. In truth, she knew that Brynden had probably been the warmest and most secure member of their party throughout their travels, but still she was eager to get him safely indoors.

“Mother!” Sansa’s voice, breathless with excitement came from behind her as her daughter spurred her horse forward. “Do you see it? Winterfell!”

“Yes, sweetling,” Catelyn replied with a smile. “We shall be home before we know it.” She bit her lip then, for she had spoken from the heart and not guarded her tongue. She had to take care not to refer to Winterfell as home, for she was the Lady of Last Hearth in the eyes of the men around her. “I am quite anxious to see you to your home and visit with your brother and sister,” she added, just in case any of the nearby riders had heard her enthusiastic response to Sansa.

“Well, Mother, I think you’ll see Bran at least very soon indeed,” came Robb’s voice from her other side, and Catelyn looked forward to see a small group of riders coming toward them from the castle.

The distance was too great to recognize individual riders, but Bran’s high-backed specialized saddle stood out easily, and Catelyn felt a lump form in her throat. She had a sudden irrational desire to demand that someone bring Rickon up to her that she might look upon all four of her sons at the same time right then. Her heart rate seemed to increase with every step her horse took toward the approaching riders, and the thought of the infant bound tightly to her beneath her cloak was the only thing which kept her from spurring the beast into a gallop.

She wondered suddenly if Ned had felt this way upon returning to the children and herself at Winterfell after spending long moons away. Of course that thought brought with a it a sharp stab of bitter grief and longing for the husband she would not find waiting here. The husband who by now was well on his way to the cold and dangers at the Wall. She silently begged protection for him from his gods and hers and then turned her attention fully to the approaching riders.

As they drew near, she saw that Bran was accompanied by Theon Greyjoy, Rodrik Cassel, and three other Winterfell men known to her. She was cheered by the sight of all of them, even Greyjoy, but at the moment she had eyes only for her second son. He’d grown taller in her absence. She could tell that by how far his thin legs hung down over Dancer’s sides. It startled her anew to see those legs, so still and useless, and she felt her rage against the Lannisters bubble near to the surface. Joy conquered that rage, however, as Bran came close enough for her to see his face clearly. His eyes sparkled with delight as he spied her between his brother and sister. His face was not much changed, she saw, although he was well past his ninth name day now. She had marked it, alone at Last Hearth, as she had Robb’s, Sansa’s, and Arya’s, with tears and bitterness, but now her boy rode out to meet her, and she put aside her grief.

“My lord!” Bran called out, and Catelyn thrilled to hear the boyish pitch to his voice. While Robb and Sansa had both sounded so much more adult to her ears when she’d first heard them speak, here was one child at least who had not grown up in her absence. “Winterfell is yours, Lord Stark. Welcome home, brother!”

Catelyn could not suppress a proud smile at her son’s formal greeting and she turned to see Robb wearing a similar expression. “It is good to be home, brother,” he replied. “All is well here, I take it?”

Bran grinned. “All is well, but a lot has been going on here!” Having officially greeted the returning Lord of Winterfell, he now turned to Catelyn. “Mother! I am very glad to see you,” he said, sounding even more like a little boy.

“And I have missed you so much!” she exclaimed. “You have grown, Bran!” That made him smile even more broadly, and she forcibly resisted the urge to dismount from her horse and go to grab him into her arms.

“He has indeed!” came a deep voice from behind her, and she turned to see Jon riding up, holding the reins of Rickon’s mount as well as his own. That explained why he hadn’t come to the head of the column sooner. They had allowed Rickon to rein his own pony during this trip, and not infrequently he left the path, requiring men to ride after him. Whether the boy or the pony was to blame for these side excursions was a matter of some debate.

“Lord Umber.” Bran’s greeting was courteous enough, but hardly as warm as his welcome of Robb and Catelyn had been. That was understandable, she supposed.

“Bran! Look! I rode my own pony all the way here from Last Hearth!” With those words, Rickon jerked hard, and pulled his reins from Jon’s hands. The pony, thankfully, didn’t startle at his sudden movement. The animal was well used to him by now.

“That’s brilliant, Rickon!” Bran said, smiling at his little brother. “We’ll have to go riding together while you’re here.”

“Hello to you, too, Bran,” Sansa said from beside Catelyn. The sarcasm in her voice wasn’t angry, though.

Bran looked distressed. “Sorry. Sansa! I just haven’t seen Mother and Rickon in so long and . . .”

“It’s all right, Bran,” she laughed.

Everyone seemed to want to talk at once then, but Rodrik Cassel said to Robb, “My lord, perhaps we should journey on to the castle now. Lady Stark is most anxious to see you.”

For a confused moment, Catelyn thought the man was referring to her, but realized with a start he meant Roslin Frey. _Roslin Stark. Robb’s wife. Lady of Winterfell._

“And I am most anxious to see her,” Robb replied with a smile, reining his horse in the direction of Winterfell once more.

“Well, there’s more of her to see,” Bran said with a laugh. “You can tell there’s a baby now, anyway. She wanted to ride out and meet you with me, Robb, but Maester Luwin said no.”

“Of course, he did,” Catelyn chuckled. “He’ll stop her from doing any number of things she’s perfectly capable of doing if she lets him. He gets quite ridiculously cautious about a woman with child.”

“I’d have him be cautious, Mother,” Robb said, already two horse’s lengths ahead of them now. Catelyn spurred her own mount to come beside him once more, and Bran clicked his tongue at Dancer so that his beautifully trained horse brought him beside them as well.

“Robb, Lord Glover is here,” Bran said a little more quietly. “He has news from Lady Mormont which she got from Rodrik Harlaw.”

“The Reader?” Catelyn asked. The bookish Lord of the Ten Towers was one of the few Ironborn whose word Catelyn came close to trusting. He was goodbrother to Balon Greyjoy and would not defy or betray the man. Yet, he was quite intelligent and seemed to understand that some accord between the Ironborn and the North was beneficial to both parties, and he had at least been willing to speak frankly with Maege and Galbart.

Bran nodded. “Lord Galbart asked to meet with Ser Rodrik and Maester Luwin and myself, but when I told him you were coming quickly, Robb, he said his news would keep for you.”

“We’ll have to speak to him today, then, Mother,” Robb said thoughtfully.

Catelyn was pleased at Robb’s automatic inclusion of her in his plans. “Yes,” she answered. “Or tomorrow. You need to see your wife, and I need to settle Brynden in and hopefully spend time with my children.”

“Brynden!” Bran cried out, staring at the front of Catelyn’s cloak as if he’d only now realized how it bulged. “Is the baby . . .”

“He’s right here, sweetling,” she said. “I’d rather not have him out in this cold. We’ll go right to whatever rooms we’re given at Winterfell and you can see your new brother then.” _I’d not have you look on his face for the first time in front of others,_ she thought.

“Roslin’s putting you and Lord Umber in your chambers, Mother,” Bran said. “She’s never really used them herself. She prefers Jon’s old room because it’s by Robb’s.”

Robb coughed, and it made Catelyn smile just a little in spite of the sick feeling Bran’s words had put in the pit of her stomach. While she would very much like to be back in her own chamber, the idea of sharing the space with Jon Umber was unthinkable. But then, she supposed Roslin had no idea about the truth of their marriage. Robb certainly would not have shared such a dangerous secret with the girl, for all he had grown fond of her. None of them truly knew the Frey girl well enough yet. _Oh_ _gods!_ she thought. _Just like Ned!_ It was not precisely the same, she knew. Robb brought no bastard of his own home to the girl. Yet, she had forced her son to start his marriage with secrets and lies, just as Lyanna Stark had forced Ned to do so long ago. _Oh, Ned._

“Any other news, Bran?” Robb asked, changing the subject from sleeping arrangements. “You said a lot has been going on.”

“Well, we have two other visitors. A girl and a boy. Meera and Jojen Reed. They’re Lord Reed’s children, from Greywater Watch.”

“Lord Reed’s children?” Catelyn asked. She had felt an odd jolt at the name. _Howland Reed knows because he was with me._ The one man in all the world who knew Ned’s secret save herself and Jon Snow, if he lived. “Why would Lord Reed send his children to Winterfell?”

Bran shrugged. “To swear fealty, they said. I took their oath because Robb wasn’t here. They seem nice enough, and they like Summer.”

By now, they approached the gates of Winterfell and all conversation was soon lost in the welcoming shouts of the people there. As soon as they’d entered, Catelyn saw her tall son dismount and walk to greet his young wife, who stood waiting for him wrapped in a grey fur cloak. The baby bump Bran had mentioned was visible in the voluminous cloak only to those who looked for it and who knew what a slight little thing Roslin had been prior to the pregnancy.

Wishing to give them a moment, Catelyn called out to Maester Luwin who was standing nearby.

“My lady!” he said happily, coming over to her just as Jon reached her to help her dismount while keeping Brynden secure within her cloak. “Lord Umber,” he greeted Jon as well, much more warmly than Bran had. For that, Catelyn was grateful. But then, Maester Luwin knew the truth of things.

“Where is Arya?” she said quickly. She had not expected her daughter to come and greet them, and had not wished to make Bran feel uncomfortable by asking about her, but she needed to know that her girl was safe here somewhere.

“She is in the godswood, my lady,” Luwin replied softly. “With her direwolf.” Not for the first time, Catelyn thanked the gods that her daughter’s beast had somehow found its way back to her when the girls had been sent north.

Catelyn nodded. “I am tired,” she said, suddenly unable to face one more person and truly needing to get Brynden inside. “I would go to my chambers with the babe now. Please offer my apologies to Lady Stark and any of her guests. I will certainly see them later in the Great Hall.”

The maester looked at her a long moment. “As you wish, my lady. Would have me do anything else?”

She hesitated a moment, but knew she could not delay the inevitable. “Send my children to me, Maester Luwin. All save Robb and Rickon. Robb must see to his wife and his duties as Lord, and Rickon . . .” She bit her lip hard. “No, I cannot have Rickon come just yet.” She looked up at Jon then. “Would you go with him, my lord? If you offer him hope of food, you know . . .”

“I will not leave you to do this alone, Catelyn,” Jon said firmly.

Luwin looked at both of them, and while he couldn’t possibly understand everything in their exchange, he simply said, “I would be happy to take young Rickon to Old Nan, my lady. She will be overjoyed to see the boy and no doubt happy to stuff him with sweets while regaling him with some story or another.”

Catelyn smiled her gratitude. “And I know that Arya will not want to come,” she said softly. “But in this one instance, she must be compelled. I would have her brought to my chambers if it requires three men to get her there.”

“I am sure it will not require so much as that, my lady,” Luwin said. “Once I have settled young Rickon, I will bring Sansa, Arya, and Bran to you and Lord Umber.”

“Thank you,” Catelyn said. She then took Jon’s arm and hurried toward the Great Keep before anyone else drew her into conversation. Once inside, she nearly ran up the stairs and through the corridor to her chambers. She opened her door and felt the warm air from inside immediately. Someone had laid a fire which was largely unnecessary in her room, but as cold as she was from the ride, she appreciated it at the moment. She fiddled with the ties on her cloak, and Jon was beside her at once, removing the garment from her shoulders. She began to remove the bindings securing Brynden to her and only when she had her son in her arms and looked at his sweet face did she let the enormity of being home truly hit her.

She sank down into a chair and wept softly, holding Brynden against her chest.

“Catelyn,” Jon said, concern in his voice. “What is it, my lady?”

She shook her head. “I am all right, Jon. I am, truly.” Brynden began to root against her, and she composed herself as she unfastened her gown in order to nurse him. “It is only that . . .I am home. I have brought my son home, but his father is still . . .”

“He will return as well, my lady,” Umber said softly. “We will accept nothing else. You know that.”

She looked up at him. “What would I do without you?” she said just as softly.

The expression on his face then was more tender than any she had ever seen upon it. “You shall never be without me, my lady,” he said firmly. “As long as you have need of me, I mean,” he added after a brief pause.

She bit her lip then as she did not know precisely what to say to that. Finally she settled on “Thank you,” and then closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the high back of the chair attempting to relax her sore muscles and calm her overwrought mind. She concentrated only on the feel of Brynden’s suckling at her teat and comforted herself with the knowledge that he was well and safe and here with her.

When she opened her eyes a few moments later, though, her brief sense of calm fled immediately as soon as she saw Jon Umber who stood frozen a few feet away, staring at her open gown with such obvious desire in his expression, she felt compelled to stand up and turn her back to him. Her cheeks flamed and her breath caught as she tried to think of something to say. She knew he thought her beautiful and suspected his feelings for her had gradually become something more than just friendship, but she had never seen him so unguarded, so obviously wanting her.

“Catelyn,” he stammered. “My lady . . .I . . .I am sorry. I . . .”

“You needn’t apologize, Jon,” she said quickly, still not turning around. “You have done nothing to . . .”

She was interrupted by a knock at her door followed by a well-known voice, “Mother?” _Sansa._ "May Bran and I come in? Hodor has Bran.”

“Of course, sweeling. Just a moment.” Catelyn rushed to lay Brynden on her bed while she hurriedly laced up her gown. She no longer felt comfortable nursing him in front of Jon. He wailed in protest, but hushed when she picked him back up and put him to her shoulder. She still hadn’t met Jon’s eyes, but walked past him now to open the door.

Sansa walked in immediately, followed by the giant, but gentle stable boy who carried Bran where his chair could not take him. There was no one else with them.

“Maester Luwin is bringing Arya,” Sansa said. “He told Bran and me to come here.”

Catelyn nodded. “I wanted to see you all together.” Turning toward the man holding Bran, she indicated the high-backed chair she’d recently vacated. “Put Bran down there, please, Hodor.”

As the man carefully placed him into the seat, Bran tried to look around him at the baby in Catelyn’s arms. “Is that my brother?” he demanded. “Can I hold him?”

“Of course,” Catelyn replied. “He just ate, but I’m not entirely certain he got his fill, so if he fusses, it isn’t anything you’ve done.”

“Bran, about Brynden . . .” Sansa started as Catelyn walked toward her son to hand him the baby, but Catelyn held up a hand. Bran would see for himself soon enough.

Catelyn carefully laid her infant son across her second son’s lap and helped Bran cradle the baby with his arms. Then she pushed Brynden’s wrappings well away from his face and stayed right beside him as Bran sharply drew in his breath.

“He . . .he looks like Arya!” he exclaimed.

“Yes,” Catelyn said softly. “He certainly does.”

“And he looks like . . .but how could he . . .I mean, Arya looks like . . .” Bran was spluttering now, but his hold on the baby never faltered.

“Arya looks like your father,” Catelyn said for him. “As does Brynden.”

Bran looked up at her then, his eyes wide. “But how could he? Why would he look like . . .I mean . . .”

Jon’s deep chuckle sounded, and Bran turned to stare at him. “Surely, you’re old enough to figure that out, aren’t you lad?” he asked him.

Bran was just a boy, but he wasn’t ignorant, and as he looked back and forth between Catelyn and Jon, his face blushed a deep crimson and he looked down at his brother. His obviously Stark brother who would never suffer the Tully tendency toward flaming cheeks. He started to shake his head back and forth slowly, and Catelyn put a hand on his shoulder.

“It’s all right, Bran,” she said softly.

He looked up at her then, confusion still in his eyes. She didn’t look away from him, but felt Jon come to stand beside her. “It’s all right, lad,” he said. “I know well enough who his father is. Your mother’s done nothing wrong. It’s the Lannisters who’ve done wrong by sending your father away. We’ve only done what we must in the mean time.”

Bran looked at him, and Catelyn could see him trying to make sense of the words, but before he could speak another knock came at the chamber door.

“I have brought your daughter, my lady,” came Maester Luwin’s voice.

“Come in, please,” Catelyn responded, bracing herself for what she would see in her daughter’s face.

Maester Luwin stepped into the room and moved aside to allow Arya to trudge in behind him. She was dressed in breeches, not surprisingly, as she had been running in the godswood. She kept her head stubbornly down, but even so, Catelyn could see that she had grown a tremendous amount over the past almost year. Unlike Bran, she was at that age where the child’s features begin to subtly give way to those of the adult yet to come, and Catelyn could see a certain feminine slimness to her daughter’s figure quite unlike the childishly skinny body she remembered. Arya stood still as stone as Maester Luwin motioned for Hodor to join him and then the two of them left the room.

“Arya,” Catelyn said. “I have missed you so much, my sweetling.”

Arya said nothing, continuing to stare stubbornly at the floor, and Catelyn wondered how Luwin had managed to get her here.

“I know you’re angry at me. You’ve been angry for a long time now.” Catelyn tried desperately to keep the heartbreak and longing out of her voice. “But I need you to look at me, Arya.”

Still, her daughter said nothing, but slowly she raised her head, and Catelyn’s hand flew to her mouth when she saw Arya’s expression. Her daughter’s grey eyes regarded her with such anger and loathing that she could not keep the tears from her eyes. “Oh, Arya,” she said.

Arya’s glare wavered only slightly. “You told me to look at you,” she said coldly. Cold or not, they were the first words her daughter had spoken to her since before she had left Winterfell, and Catelyn held tightly to them.

“Yes,” she said. “And I need you to look at your new brother. He’s right here with . . .”

“No,” Arya said flatly. “You can’t make me look at the little bastard.”

“Arya!” Sansa cried out.

At the same time, Jon thundered, “How dare you say such a thing to your mother? And about your own brother?”

Arya rounded on Jon, grey eyes the very image of Ned’s when he’d been pushed beyond the limits of his temper. “How dare you speak to me? You call yourself my father’s friend, but you bed his wife? Don’t you ever speak to me!”

“Arya!” Catelyn spoke sharply, horrified by her daughter’s words.

“You _are_ the wife of Eddard Stark!” Arya shouted, turning back toward her. “My father is not dead, so I don’t care what you say. You are his wife and no one else’s, and that makes this man’s little spawn over there as much a bastard as my brother Jon ever was! You never ordered me to look at Jon, Mother!”

Jon Umber actually started toward Arya, and Catelyn grabbed his arm. “No,” she said sharply. “She’s only telling the truth as she knows it.” Catelyn was shaking, but she refused to shout or cry. She simply looked at her daughter as steadily as she could, and Arya’s eyes actually began to water a little as she looked back.

“You are right about one very important thing, Arya,” Catelyn said, willing her voice to remain steady. “I am your father’s wife, and no one else’s.”

Now, those grey eyes looked confused, and Catelyn continued. “I said as much to your father. He tried to tell me his vow to the Night’s Watch dissolved our marriage, but I never accepted that. I never will. And I will never be angry at you for refusing to accept it either.”

Arya bit her lower lip now as she tried to make sense of what Catelyn was saying.

“But I am asking you, Arya, to please walk over to Bran and just look at your little brother.”

Arya continued to look at her for a long moment, and Catelyn met her eyes steadily. Finally, without saying a word, Arya turned and walked toward her seated brother and the infant he held. Bran held Brynden upright as she approached and the baby opened his eyes.

With a cry, Arya put her hand to her mouth in an echo of Catelyn’s own gesture when she’d first seen her daughter’s angry face. Then she walked the rest of the way to Bran and reached out to touch the baby he held with a trembling hand. After a moment, she turned back to look at Catelyn. “How?” she whispered.

“You said it yourself, sweetling,” Catelyn said softly. “I am the wife of Eddard Stark. I am his wife, and Brynden is his son.”

Arya swallowed, and then narrowed her eyes at Greatjon Umber, standing beside Catelyn. “But you took her. You came here and took her away.” Her words were still angry, but Catelyn thought she sounded more a little girl than the avenging she-wolf she’d been moments before.

“No,” she told her daughter softly. “He protected me. He protected Brynden.”

At that point, Brynden himself began to wail, and Catelyn knew she would have to feed him. She took him from Bran’s arms and went to seat herself on her bed this time.

“Catelyn,” Jon said, “I am going to find Rickon. I don’t believe you shall have any further trouble here, my lady.”

“No," she said to him. “I won’t. Thank you.” She would have reached up to touch him, but he wouldn’t meet her eyes now, and she knew he was thinking of what had occurred just before the children arrived. He didn’t want to remain there while she fed Brynden, and she no longer felt comfortable touching his arm. That made her very sad, but she simply let him go as she once more undid the front laces of her gown and put her son to the breast.

“Sit down, please, girls,” she said then. “Obviously, having been at Last Hearth since Brynden’s birth, Sansa has known about this since then, but she did not know before. What questions do you two have?” The inquiry was addressed to Arya and Bran both.

“When,” Arya said flatly so that it didn’t even sound like a question.

“When your father came to Winterfell, after he had been sent to the Wall.”

“He was only here one day!” Arya said. “We barely even saw him!”

Catelyn closed her eyes and willed herself not to blush. This conversation had been difficult enough with Robb nearly a year ago. With her younger children, it was excruciating. “Yes,” she said. “I stayed in his room that night.”

All three of them looked down although Sansa had heard this before. Catelyn was eminently grateful that they wished to discuss this part of it even less than she did.

“Did Robb know?” Bran asked. “When you married Lord Umber?”

“Yes. Robb knew. He had to help me plan everything quickly. Once I knew that I carried Brynden, I had very little time.”

“But you married him,” Arya said accusingly. “Knowing you carried Father’s baby, you married him and let him claim it!”

Catelyn noted she had not once said Jon’s name. “No. We only pretended to wed. I had no choice because as long as your father stands condemned as a traitor and sworn to the Night’s Watch, he and I are not wed in the eyes of the law.” She held up her hand as Arya began to protest. “I agree with you, sweetling, but I do not sit the Iron Throne. Had I remained here and birthed Brynden at Winterfell, he would have been named bastard, and had I named your father as his as well, the Lannisters would have had an excuse to take his head, this time as a traitor to the Watch. I could never let that happen.”

“Pretended to wed? But you did marry him. We all saw you there in the godswood. Well, except for Arya,” Bran said.

“Everyone had to believe it was real, Bran, so we said the words. But it takes more than words to make a marriage legal,” Catelyn told him.

“He never bedded you,” Arya said. “That’s what you mean, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Catelyn said simply, not knowing if she were more grateful or appalled by her daughter’s rapid understanding of the situation.

“But that night, he . . .” Bran said, his cheeks flushing once more. Catelyn realized he was remembering Greatjon’s behavior at that dreadful wedding feast.

“Playacting,” Sansa said quickly before Catelyn had figured out what to say. “Everyone had to believe it to be a real marriage or there would have been far too many questions when Mother was discovered with child so quickly after.”

None of the children felt the need to ask any more questions on that topic, but Bran did express the one unavoidable fact. “Mother, Brynden looks even more like Father than Arya does. Everyone here will know who his father is.”

“I fear you are correct, Bran. That is why Brynden will be kept mostly to my rooms. The fewer people who see him closely, the better. None of our people will question me openly. Some may even surmise precisely why we have done what we have done, but rumors will spread nonetheless. As long as none of us confirms those rumors and we all behave entirely as if Brynden is the child of Lord Umber and myself . . .”

Arya interrupted her with a loud snort at that point.

“Arya,” she said warningly. “As long as we do that, we may buy enough time to prepare for your Father’s safe return here to mount a proper challenge against the Lannisters. None of us will truly be safe as long as they hold the throne.”

“You keep saying Lannisters,” Arya said. “Is it really true then? What people say? That Joffrey isn’t even King Robert’s son, but the Kingslayer’s bastard?”

Catelyn sighed. Having told them so much, she supposed she would be foolish to try to protect them from one more ugly truth. “It is true,” she said. “Your father’s discovery of that fact and promise to expose it led the queen to arrest him in the first place.”

“The Kingslayer’s bastard sits the Iron Throne while my father’s trueborn son hides behind another man’s name?!?” Arya exploded. “Mother, how can you stand it?”

“I can’t, Arya. I won’t. But I can’t do anything about it just yet.” She sighed. “You must keep your voice down, sweetling. We can never know who’s in the corridor.” She looked at all three of her children sitting there. “You need only know that your brother, your father, and I along with many other good northmen are trying to build enough strength to work with better claimants than the Lannister bastard to that throne. We will get your father released from the Night’s Watch and his title restored to him. Then it won’t matter who Brynden looks like because his name will be Stark the same as yours. But for now, I must have your promises. This child is Lord Umber’s baby. Your father is a loyal man of the Night’s Watch. Your mother is the Lady of Last Hearth. You can never say anything different to anyone. Even your little brother, Rickon, believes these things to be true.”

“Poor Rickon,” Bran said.

“He’s all right,” Sansa said. “He doesn’t even remember Father, not really. And even though that seems terrible, it makes it easier for him. He could never keep a secret.”

“I promise, Mother,” Bran said solemnly. “You have my word as a Stark.”

“Me, too,” Arya mumbled.

Catelyn smiled at them. “Girls, I really do need to rest before dinner. If you could find Hodor and send him back for Bran?"

Arya went immediately to the door without looking back, while Sansa hugged Catelyn first. It seemed that she and Bran had barely started to speak of anything else, though, when Arya returned with Hodor. When the big man lifted Bran out of the chair and took him from her chambers, Arya lingered.

“What is it, Arya?” she asked.

“You lied to us,” the girl said. “Why? Why couldn’t you just tell us?”

Catelyn sighed. “You were children. You are children. It’s a lot to ask of you, to keep a secret this big.”

“But you told us now. And Bran’s _still_ younger than I was when you lied to me last year.”

“That is true,” Catelyn told her. “And if Brynden looked like Bran or Rickon I would be lying to you still.”

Arya’s eyes darkened with anger at that. “Why? Don’t you know how much I hated you for what you did to Father?”

“Yes,” Catelyn said softly. “And it hurt me very much. But you were safer not knowing, Arya. And your father and your little brother were safer with fewer people knowing. I could bear your hatred far better than your death or the death of your father or sister of any of your brothers. I am sorry, Arya, but I would keep you all safe even if it cost great pain to my heart . . .or yours.”

Arya looked at her a long time. “I’ll have to be the same then,” she said finally.

“What?”

“I’ll have to keep hating you. No one will believe this lie I’m telling if all my anger suddenly disappears. Everyone at Winterfell knows how I feel.”

Catelyn nodded. “I understand.”

“All right, then.” Arya turned to go again, but stopped just at the door. Turning back to look at Catelyn, she said, “But Mother? I don’t really hate you.” Without another word, she left the chamber, closing the door behind her, and Catelyn sat down on her bed and cried.

_____________________________________________________________________________________

Catelyn awoke in the dark to the sound of Brynden’s cries. The darkness was nearly complete as there was no fire, but she was not cold. _My room,_ she thought. _My own room at Winterfell._ She had instructed her maid to let the fire in the hearth burn down during the feast as her chambers had grown almost too warm as she had dressed to go to the Great Hall the night before. Ned would have laughed at her for that, she knew. Yet, after the unyielding cold in Last Hearth, Winterfell felt as warm and cozy to her as Riverrun ever had in the sunny days of her childhood.

As she sat up in her bed and reached into the cradle beside it to retrieve her son, she heard a snorting sort of breath from the little sitting room off to one side. _Jon,_ she thought miserably. He was sleeping on a narrow cot little better than what he’d slept on as they journeyed here. She felt terrible for him, but she absolutely could not share a bed with the man.

She had requested the cot for herself, telling the maidservants that Brynden was a colicky child at night, (which was a lie), and that his cries disturbed his father some nights. If she had a small cot near his cradle in the sitting room which she might make use of when he became too fretful, her lord husband might sleep better. They had swiftly moved to comply with her request. The genuine affection she’d received from her former servants warmed her heart, even after she’d watched the expressions of surprise and confusion as each maid got a good look at Brynden. She was careful not to meet their eyes immediately after they saw him, afraid she would find either suspicion or pity and not wanting to see either.

Jon had refused the bed. He’d taken one look at the arrangements when he’d finally come back to her bedchamber to dress for dinner and, without a word, moved the cradle beside her bed. When she’d try to protest that he was much too large for the cot, he’d simply replied, “It is your bed, my lady, not mine.”

“The maidservants will wonder at the cradle being in here,” she’d said.

“No more than they already wonder at Eddard Stark’s son bearing the surname Umber,” he’d sighed wearily. He’d held up his hand as she’d started to protest once more. “Catelyn, of course they know. Marta knew. We simply never spoke of it, and her loyalty to me kept her silent. You told me these are the same maids you’ve had for years. Do you consider them loyal?”

Catelyn had nodded.

“Then we trust them to hold their tongues. We have no option, my lady.” With that, he had turned away to dress himself in the relative privacy of the sitting room, saying no more on the subject.

Now, as Catelyn sat in her dark bed, nursing her son and missing her husband desperately, she realized she now missed the easy, comfortable friendship she’d found with Jon Umber almost as much and wondered if she could ever recover it.

The feast had not been too unbearable. The simple act of eating a meal in the Great Hall with all her children present had cheered her considerably regardless of her worries. Rickon had delighted his siblings and other castle inhabitants with childish tales of his adventures in Last Hearth, and he was overjoyed to learn that Robb had no intention of banning Shaggydog from meals unless the wolf acted out.

Arya had sat in angry silence, visibly cold to Catelyn, drawing reproachful looks from more than one person present. Catelyn herself had been relatively unconcerned by it. While she did not doubt that Arya was still furious with her on some level, she also knew that her demeanor was at least partly an act. As painful as the confrontation earlier had been, it had left Catelyn in no doubt that this almost entirely Stark daughter of hers was Tully enough to put her family’s protection above all other concerns. She’d had to remind herself frequently throughout the meal not to smile at the scowling girl.

Sansa sat at Robb’s left, looking every inch a lady, as she smiled courteously at everyone who spoke to her, and Catelyn was struck yet again at how truly beautiful her daughter was, especially at the young age of barely three and ten. _She may look like_ _me, but she will grow to be far more beautiful. The heir to Highgarden will find no more desirable lady._ Once, that thought would have filled her mind only with glorious plans for Sansa’s wedding and future prosperity as the Lady of Highgarden, but the past two years had changed her, she realized. _He may desire her, but he will not have her if she does not want him. Nor will he take her from Winterfell to use against us for the Lannisters. I will not allow it._

Bran had sat between the Reed siblings who seemed courteous enough, although they seemed to have little interest in conversing with anyone other than Bran. When Catelyn had asked them what brought them to Winterfell, the girl had given the same enigmatic explanation Bran had given for them earlier. “We come from our father to pledge our fealty to House Stark.” _Why now?_ Catelyn thought. _Is there some message in this that I do not understand?_ At least, Bran seemed to enjoy their company better than that of her two wards, the two Frey boys both named Walder whom she’d agreed to foster at Winterfell as part of the price for crossing the river at the Twins that long ago day. She had to admit that neither boy was particularly pleasant.

Seated on Robb’s right had been the other part of that price. Roslin had always been a pretty little thing, but carrying Robb’s child, she positively seemed to glow. Robb seemed unable to tear his eyes from her for long, and the emotion in his eyes when he looked at his wife brought tears to Catelyn’s own eyes. She remembered how it had been with Ned, when she carried Sansa. Ned had not been there when she carried Robb, and for more than a year afterward, she’d barely tolerated his presence, angered and shamed by his responding to her giving him Robb by presenting her with Jon Snow. Yet as Sansa grew inside her, they had reached for each other more and more, both caught up in the miracle of the child they made between them and the more unexpected miracle of the love they found growing between them as well. Catelyn prayed it might be the same for Robb and his Roslin. After all, she and Ned had no more choice about their marriage than these two, and now she would rather rebel against the Iron Throne than allow the Lannisters to separate him from her.

She’d escaped the feast early, pleading the need to check on Brynden. She’d left him in her chambers with a maid, explaining that he’d taken a chill on the journey and developed a bit of a worrisome cough, so she didn’t want to bring him outdoors to the Great Hall. Another lie, of course, as Brynden was no more ill than he was colicky. This lie, however, had also given her the excuse to bring Maester Luwin to her chambers, ostensibly to check on her sick child.

His reaction upon seeing Brynden up close for the first time had amused her greatly, as he had known the truth all along, of course, and there was no need for pretense. “Oh, Lady Stark!” he had exclaimed. “He is the very image of your lord husband!”

“Well, yes he is,” she had laughed. “But I fear that you must not call me Lady Stark, and remember that my current lord husband looks nothing like Brynden at all. Therein lies my difficulty.”

Luwin had smiled at her ruefully. “Indeed, my lady. Rest assured, we shall maintain the pretense. There are none who would question you and Lord Umber, or Lord Robb, here in Winterfell.” He’d looked again at her sleeping son. “But with that face . . .”

“You haven’t even seen him with his eyes open,” Catelyn interrupted.

“Grey, I presume?” the maester had asked her.

“As a winter sky,” she had sighed. “With that face, it will only be a matter of time before rumors reach as far south as King’s Landing, regardless of what is said or not said within the castle here. That is why we must work quickly to secure as much strength as we can to openly defy the Lannisters and demand my lord husband’s conviction and sentence to the Wall be immediately overturned. Have you any more word about when Willas Tyrell will arrive here?”

“It should be within the week, my lady. Interestingly, a letter arrived for him from King’s Landing today.”

“Did you read it?”

“It is addressed to Willas Tyrell,” the man had said firmly.

“Of course,” she had laughed. “I wonder if a Stark would be treated with the same courtesy in Highgarden. I do not trust the Tyrells at all. They are ambitious and scheming. ‘Growing Strong’ their words say. Growing stronger and more powerful by whatever means necessary, I say. Yet, the man is coming as an invited guest. We have no just reason to read his private correspondence.” She’d sighed heavily as she greatly wanted to know what was in that letter. “Make sure Robb or myself is present when he is given that letter, Maester Luwin,” she’d said. “We should at least ask him what is in it, if only to see whether or not he will tell us.”

Moving on to other matters she had asked if he’d received any communication from Lord Reed, regarding his children’s visit to Winterfell, and he had not. Nor had he any idea what news Lord Glover had to impart, although he said Glover had felt it could keep until the morning to allow Lord Robb and herself the evening to reunite with family. After giving her all the information he could, he had asked, “My lady, how are we to communicate any of these things to Lord Stark? Your son has written to Castle Black numerous times, but no replies ever come. I fear the Lord Commander does not allow your lord husband any news of Winterfell or the realm.”

“He doesn’t allow it,” she had said, smiling, “But the gods intervened.” She had gone on to tell her trusted maester how Ned had been brought to Last Hearth, joyful at being able to share the tale with at least one person at Winterfell. After much discussion, it had been decided not to say anything to Bran or Arya, for it would simply be one more secret to keep and would serve no purpose other than to make them regret having not seen their father when Catelyn, Sansa, and Robb all had.

She had just finished explaining to Maester Luwin how Robb had spent a long time explaining to Ned what had been done in the time since he’d been sent to the Wall and how Ned had promised to find some way to communicate with them at Winterfell upon his return to Castle Black when Jon had finally returned to her chambers. Luwin had bid them both good night, leaving them alone together, save for a sleeping babe.

“Does the feast continue?” she had asked.

“It does, but I grew tired,” he had said. “I fear our journey here tired me more than I care to admit. I am no longer as young as that son of yours. A few men dug up some instruments somewhere, and he was dancing that little wife of his across the floor when I left.”

Catelyn smiled. “He should dance with her all he can now. In another couple moons, she’ll feel too ungainly to enjoy it properly.”

Jon had made some non-commital sound and turned to go toward the sitting room. “Robb and I are to meet with Galbart Glover as soon as we break our fast on the morrow. I should like you to be with us,” she’d called after him.

“As you wish, my lady,” he’d replied. “If we are to start with strategy sessions at dawn, mayhaps we should both sleep now.” Then he’d turned his back on her again.

As Brynden nursed, Catelyn was surprised to note the room was already lightening. He must have slept longer than he normally did at night, and by the time he finished nursing and she had burped him settled him back to sleep, she realized the cooks were probably already in the kitchen preparing the morning meal. Silently, she rose to dress, lighting only one candle and trying not to wake the man on the cot. The room continued to grow lighter, and after she had washed her face and put on a clean dress for the day, she found she did not even need the help of the candle’s little flame to comb out and rebraid her hair.

She grabbed her cloak and slipped from her chamber in search of her personal maid. Elin was already close by, and seemed most distressed to find that Catelyn had risen and dressed without calling for her. She assured Elin that she had simply been unable to get back to sleep after feeding the baby and eased the woman’s sense of duty by requesting that she bring some fresh water up for Jon to wash when he rose and asking her to sit with Brynden when Jon came down to the Hall.

The early morning air was bitingly cold after the warmth of her chambers, and she walked to the Great Hall as quickly as she could, reassured by the smoke curling into the air from its chimneys that she would find welcoming fires in its hearths. There were only a few men and fewer serving maids moving about when she entered, but she was pleased to note that one of the men was her son.

“Mother!” Robb called to her, looking up to see her almost at once. “Come and join me. You are up very early, my lady.”

“Not as early as you are, my lord, it would seem,” she replied with a smile. There were faint shadows beneath Robb’s eyes, whether from lack of sleep, worry about their situation, or both, she could not tell. She touched his hand as she took the offered seat beside him. “Lord Umber will no doubt join us shortly. I could not fall back asleep after feeding your youngest brother, so I decided to come to the Hall early. Have you seen Galbart this morning?”

Robb shook his head. “But I expect him at any moment. He was most anxious to speak with us. In truth, Mother, I am glad you are here alone. If we could break our fast quickly, mayhaps you could accompany me to my solar? There is a matter I would discuss with you before we speak with anyone else.”

He looked serious and somewhat apprehensive as she agreed to his request. The two of them were brought food almost immediately and ate in relative silence, only pausing to return the greetings of various men. Just as they rose to leave the Great Hall, Jon and Galbart Glover entered together.

“My lord, my lady,” Galbart greeted Robb and Catelyn. Turning to Catelyn, he said, “I met Lord Umber on my walk here, Lady Catelyn, and when I asked him to join our conversation this morning, he informed me you had already asked him.”

“Of course,” Catelyn said. Aware that they were being watched by everyone in the Great Hall, she then turned to Jon. “I hope you are well rested, my lord? Forgive me for leaving my chamber without you, but you were sleeping so soundly, I didn’t have the heart to wake you before it was needful."

It was a true enough statement. Of course, it was also true that she had no desire to be alone with him in her chamber, struggling to find words to speak while this uncomfortable distance lay between them.

“I am well rested, my lady. I thank you.” His voice was warm enough, but Catelyn noticed he still seemed unable to meet her gaze and hold it.

“Take your time and break your fast, my lords,” Robb said to both men. “I have asked my lady mother to come to my solar in order to discuss a private family matter. Please join us there when you have finished your meal.”

_A private family matter? Whatever does the boy mean? Has he heard from Willas Tyrell?_

Robb looked nothing like his father, but as she walked with him back to the Great Keep with her hand on his arm, Catelyn was struck by the similarity in both the builds and their gaits of her husband and firstborn son. Once inside the solar, when Robb turned to her and spoke his mind without preamble, Catelyn was struck painfully by their similarity in directness of speech.

“Mother, I want to tell Roslin the truth.”

She stared at him. “No,” she said.

“She has already asked me why you have not invited her to your chamber to see her newest goodbrother and why her maids don’t answer her easily when she asks about him.”

 _Gods,_ Catelyn thought. _So it begins already._

She sighed. “I made it plain that Brynden was ill last night, and that I was tired from our journey. Surely, your wife can understand the wishes of a mother to see her infant well, and that a woman nearly twenty years her senior might need to rest after a journey of leagues and leagues through the snow.”

“Yes, but . . .”

“But nothing, Robb. She seems a sweet girl, I know, but she is the daughter of Walder Frey, and in truth we know her but a little. You know her better than I, of course, but still not enough. And I do know Lord Frey well enough to know he would not hesitate to use any means to gain advantage for himself and his house. He cannot know of Bynden’s true parentage. Not yet.”

“Roslin would never tell him.”

“You cannot know that.”

“Mother, she knows I am keeping something from her,” Robb said desperately. “How can I keep lying to my own wife? What am I supposed to say to her?”

Catelyn felt as if she’d been grabbed by an icy hand. “Nothing,” she said. “Say nothing to her, Robb.”

“You cannot tell me Father would keep something like this from you,” her son said firmly, and Catelyn felt that icy hand grip her more tightly.

“No,” she said, flatly. “He would not keep secrets from me. Not now. But when we had been wed less than a year . . .or even two years . . .yes, Robb, he would. He did.”

Robb stared at her without speaking.

“He did not know me,” she said softly, speaking to herself as much as to her son. “He could not yet trust me.” Those words hurt to say, but she felt the truth of them in a way she had not before.

“What secrets would Father need to keep from you?” Robb asked her, incredulously.

“His own,” she said simply, “And they are not mine to share with you or anyone. Do not ask me.”

“But . . .”

“Robb,” she said urgently. “Your father wed me in a time of war and danger. He wed me for the sake of his brother’s honor and my father’s swords. You wed Roslin in a time of war and danger as well, for the sake of her father’s support and passage across his damned bridge. Danger necessitates secrecy, I fear.”

He looked at her, his young face pained but looking more resolute. “You know his secrets now.” It was a statement, not a question.

“Yes.”

“And how did you feel about his lying to you?”

“It was a different situation, Robb.”

“I asked you how you felt, Mother.”

He was young, her son, but he was no longer a boy. “I was angry,” she said. “I was hurt.” She was still angry and hurt, but it would not help Robb to hear that. She walked to him and took his face in her hands. “Robb,” she said softly. “I am sorry for all of this. I am sorry Roslin will be hurt, but I am not sorry enough to risk the lives of your father or any of us on her loyalty to you. She is a Stark only in name as of yet, for all she carries a Stark within her. She’s been a Frey her whole life. We cannot chance it.”

“Did you forgive him?” It was a whisper.

“Yes,” she said. _Have I?_ she wondered. _The gods know I am trying._

Robb stepped back from her and bowed his head. After a moment, he looked up at her. “I will say nothing to Roslin,” he told her. “For now.”

“For now is likely long enough. This is not a secret we can keep forever, Robb.”

Whatever reply he might have made was interrupted by a knock at the door.

“Come in,” Robb called, and Jon Umber, Galbart Glover, and Maester Luwin entered the solar. Robb smiled at them. “I see you found Maester Luwin. As you both know, he has been privy to our plans since the beginning and whatever tidings you bring, Lord Glover, I thought his counsel might prove useful.” Everyone present nodded in agreement. “Please be seated,” Robb said then, and when they were all settled he looked at Galbart Glover. “Now, tell us what tidings you have from Lord Harlaw.”

Glover looked at all of them. “Balon Greyjoy is dead,” he said, and everyone else in the room gasped.

“Is this certain?” Catelyn asked, and Glover nodded.

Robb’s expression of shock began to transform into one of excitement. “This means Theon is Lord of the Iron Islands!” he exclaimed. “It means that . . .”

“No, my lord,” Glover interrupted quickly. “It does not mean that. The Ironborn have apparently held a kingsmoot, and Balon’s brother Euron has been named not Lord, but King, of the Iron Islands.”

“King!” thundered Jon. “By what right?”

“Balon had planned to make himself king once more, had he not? Were you not told that he planned an attack of the north when Robb and I were south of the Neck with most of our strength? Why should his brother be any less ambitious?” Catelyn said. “We must send word to Lord Mallister at Seagard.”

“Seagard is not in danger,” Glover said.

“You don’t think Euron Crow’s Eye will sail?” Jon asked. “I recall the man well enough from Balon’s rebellion. He’s cruel and clever not one to shy away from war or pillage.”

“Oh, he will sail,” Glover said. “He is assembling a fleet to sail south. Apparently, the limited plunder here in the North or even in the Riverlands is not tempting enough. The man intends to attack the Reach.”

“The Reach?” Catelyn exclaimed. “Gods be good! The man is mad!”

“Aye, he is that,” Jon answered her, “But a damned good reaver, nonetheless. He’ll give Paxter Redwyne’s fleet problems. That’s for certain.”

“Do we even know where Redwyne’s fleet is?” Robb asked, speaking for the first time since his short lived hope of placing Theon on the Seastone Chair had been dashed. “The Redwynes are loyal to Joffrey, and Joffrey’s fighting Stannis, wherever he may be. Is it possible that Redwyne’s ships have been sent to pursue him?”

“Mayhaps, Willas Tyrell will know the answer to that question when he arrives,” Catelyn said.

“Willas Tyrell?” Galbart Glover said, stunned. “Willas Tyrell is coming here?”

“Within days,” Catelyn replied. “No doubt, he would be very interested in this information.”

“But the Tyrells are aligned with the Lannisters!” Glover protested. “The man’s own sister is . . .”

“To marry Joffrey the Bastard,” Robb interrupted. “Likely she already has. Yes. But you must remember, Lord Glover, House Stark is also currently sworn to the little bastard on the Iron Throne. I can hardly dismiss the future Lord of Highgarden’s suit for my sister’s hand without letting the man even speak for himself.”

“Gods be good! The man wants to take the Lady Sansa?” Glover looked appalled at the suggestion, and she could almost have kissed the man for the way his hand went to where his sword hilt would be had he been wearing one, as if he were ready to strike down any man attempting to take Sansa anywhere right then.

“No one will take my daughter anywhere, Galbart. But it costs us nothing to hear the man or to speak to him. We could possibly learn much and if the gods smile, we may even find a friend among our enemies, much as you and Maege have done with the Reader.”

“Speaking of Lord Harlaw, he will sail with Euron’s fleet, you know. I wouldn’t have him sold into the hands of the Tyrells. He’s been as much a friend to us as is possible without betraying his own lord. And this last bit of information that’s been leaked from Ten Towers, well, if it truly does come to us with his knowledge, he may have crossed that line,” Galbart said seriously.

Now, Catelyn was confused. “Who at Ten Towers besides Rodrik Harlaw would send any information to Maege Mormont?”

Lord Glover looked at Robb who sighed. “I hadn’t had a chance to tell you everything about our negotiations in the Iron Islands. Lady Maege’s second daughter, Alysane, has been staying at Ten Towers.”

“What?” Catelyn exclaimed. “Is she some sort of hostage? How could you . . .”

“No! No,” Robb assured her. “Apparently during a visit there, Lady Greyjoy took quite a liking to her.”

“Lady Greyjoy? Oh, you mean Alannys Harlaw, don’t you! I’d forgotten she’s been at Ten Towers some years now. I heard she’s half mad, the poor thing.”

“Oh, she is,” Glover confirmed. “But not entirely mad, and that’s the key. She was desperate to keep Aly Mormont with her. Seems she reminds the woman in some odd way of her own daughter who’s never around, so her brother agreed to let her stay on as sort of a companion to Lady Greyjoy. In any event, the Lady knows full well, in her lucid moments, where here son is and why. She’s a mother, Lady Stark. Surely, you can see how she might want to share information about any imminent attacks by House Greyjoy if she thought it might keep her boy’s head on his shoulders.”

Catelyn nodded. She knew Alysane Mormont. The girl was as fearless and smart as her mother and older sister. She would use any influence she had over poor Alannys Harlaw to great effect. It seemed wrong on some level to play on the grief and fear of a madwoman to infiltrate the plans of House Greyjoy, but now was not a time to question methods. The stakes were too high. “So it would seem our information is likely to be quite good, then.”

Glover nodded.

“So,” Robb said then, “It appears that we, at least, shall not be troubled by Reavers in the near future. Nor shall my Uncle Edmure. This is a very good thing. And if they choose to trouble lands and forces loyal to Joffrey without my involvement . . .” Robb actually laughed. “That’s an even better thing. No one is to say anything of this to anyone, especially once our guests from Highgarden arrive. We have much that we need to learn from Willas Tyrell before I consider sharing this little piece of information.”

Catelyn nodded her approval. Her son was learning to play this game well. _____________________________________________________________________________________

The next two days passed in relative calm, but the relationship between Jon and Catelyn remained strained. She had spoken to Robb about putting Jon in some other chamber close to hers, but with Galbart staying on for the Tyrell visit and the Tyrell party members themselves soon needing rooms, suitable accommodations were hard to come by. Ned’s chambers remained empty, but no one at Winterfell would take kindly to those being occupied by anyone except Robb, and Robb steadfastly remained in his own rooms. The only thing her inquiry had accomplished was to alert Robb that there was some problem between Jon and herself, and now her son began to treat her nominal husband with a certain level of suspicion so reminiscent of Ned’s that it broke her heart and made her feel even more guilty than she already did about the entire abysmal situation.

Each night, she lay in her bed, staring at the ceiling far too long before falling asleep, worrying about Ned. She knew it was too soon to realistically expect a letter, but still she wanted one desperately. She worried about Ned, about her children, about the whispers and glances among people in the castle. Her worries were too many to keep track of through the day, but at night they chased one another through her mind while sleep eluded her. When it did come, it was troubled by dreams that were as disturbing as they were senseless. Brynden had begun sleeping nearly through the night, and yet she slept less than she had since his birth.

When she finally fell asleep on the third night after the meeting with Glover, she expected more of the same, but at some point found herself dreaming of Ned, not freezing at the Wall or pierced by the swords of inhuman creatures or bent over a block with a blade above his neck. She had dreamt all those things before and awakened cold and terrified. This time, he was here, in her chamber, in her bed, and he whispered her name softly.

“Ned,” she whispered. “My love.” He smiled at her and touched her face. She could feel his fingers in her hair, his breath on her neck. “I’ve missed you. I need you so much, my love,” she told him, half sobbing. He only smiled at her and moved his hand first to her breast and then lower. She felt her breath come shorter as she moved beneath him. She was his. He was hers. He was here. “I love you.”

Suddenly an almost anguished, guttural sound pierced the fabric of her dream, and she realized it was only a dream, as her eyes suddenly opened to the empty space above her. Her heart ached at her husband’s absence. His presence had felt so real, but she found herself alone in her bed, the fur blanket thrown off, her nightshift pulled up above her waist, but only her own hands touching her anywhere.

The heartbreak and longing rapidly gave way to a sense of panic, however, as she remembered the sound that had awakened her, and she turned her gaze toward the side. To her horror, she found Jon Umber standing still as a statue not five paces away, staring at her, his face flushed and his arousal standing out obviously against his breeches.

“Oh gods!” she cried, grabbing at the fur and turning away from him as she covered herself completely.

“Catelyn,” he said, and his voice sounded dry and hoarse. “Catelyn . . .I . . .”

“Just go, Jon!” she cried from beneath the covers. “Please! Just go!” _Where can he go?_ she thought hysterically. _It’s the middle of the night!_

He must have realized the same, for after a moment, she heard him turn and walk back in the direction of the sitting room. She lay shaking beneath the furs for a very long time. She couldn’t imagine ever falling asleep again, but she must have at some point for she opened her eyes at the sound of Brynden’s cries to find the room bathed in the grey light of dawn. As she reached for the baby, she realized Jon was not in his cot in the sitting room and thanked the Seven for that. She had no idea how they were supposed to look at each other, let alone speak to each other after the previous night, but she did know they positively could not continue to share a room, whatever the ramifications.

“My lady,” came a soft voice at her door, accompanied by a knock. “Are you awake?”

“Yes, Elin, come in,” she called.

“My lady, Lord Robb sent me to tell you that Lord Tyrell’s party has been spotted just to the south. They’ll be here by midday. He said you would want to know right away.”

Catelyn put her face in her hands. _Of course, Tyrell would arrive today. Now._ Looking up at her maid, who stood just inside the door, she said, “I would like a bath drawn, Elin. And I will wear the blue dress with the grey trim to meet our guests. Have a bath drawn for Lady Sansa as well, and then have Mina do her hair. She does such a lovely job with it.” She would have liked to do Sansa’s hair herself, but her maimed fingers were no longer dexterous for anything but the simplest of styles, and her girl should look her best today. Catelyn needed to dress in a manner befitting the mother of one lord and wife of another herself, but she took no pleasure in the idea. The very thought of dressing in finery to stand there on Jon’s arm made her feel both guilty and ashamed. She pushed those thoughts away, though. She needed a clear head today. Sansa and Robb both depended upon her in this matter.

Using her need to prepare to greet their guests as an excuse, Catelyn didn’t go down to the Great Hall to break her fast. She asked after her children, making sure they had all eaten and asked that something be sent to her. She wouldn’t have left her room until Tyrell arrived had it not been for the fact that she knew Jon would want a chance to dress properly as well and that he would not return to her chambers as long as she was there. So, about an hour before Willas Tyrell’s anticipated arrival, she went in search of her children, taking Brynden with her this time so that Jon could truly have the room to himself for once.

Her children were being scrubbed and polished and bearing it with varying degrees of grace. Arya and Rickon complained the loudest, of course. Sansa was stunning in a silver-grey dress with white fur trim. She looked like some mythical northern queen of old. Catelyn sat in Sansa’s room, watching Mina work her magic with her shining copper tresses when Roslin came in. Robb’s wife seemed surprised to find her there, and even more surprised to find Brynden in her arms.

“May I hold him, please?” she asked courteously. “I’ve held babies at the Twins, of course, but none recently, and I rather feel I need the practice.”

Catelyn had no reason to refuse her. “Of course,” she said simply, handing her the babe.

The girl looked at Brynden’s sweet face and smiled at him. “This is the first time I’ve seen him properly,” she said sweetly, but Catelyn heard the subtle reproach. “He’s very sweet. I think he looks a bit like Arya!” She looked up at Catelyn carefully, then.

“A bit,” Catelyn said evenly. “Although he looks rather more like Smalljon Umber. You remember the Smalljon from when we passed throught the Twins?” She knew perfectly well that Roslin had not met any of Robb’s men then.

“I’m afraid I’ve not had the pleasure,” Roslin replied.

“Oh, well then you wouldn’t see it, of course. But Brynden definitely favors his oldest brother quite a bit. Especially the hair color, and his nose and chin. I’m not yet quite certain of the eyes . . .”

Roslin continued to search her face as if looking for clues. _She knows I’m hiding something,_ Catelyn thought. _But she doesn’t_ _know why, and while she can guess at what the lie is, she cannot be certain of it. And that’s driving the poor girl mad_. Catelyn felt a pang of guilt as she knew that feeling all too well. _This is different,_ she thought stubbornly. _This is nothing between her and Robb._

“Oh, I don’t know, Mother,” Sansa said casually from her seat in front of the large mirror. “He looks a little like Smalljon, but I think he looks more like Rickon. Remember how dark his hair was when he was a baby?”

“Aye, it was at that, Lady Sansa. Though little Rickon’s always had more curl than wee Brynden’s, even when when it was dark as soot,” said Mina, as she wound another elaborate braid around Sansa’s head.

Catelyn bit her lip, not knowing whether to laugh or cry. Rickon’s hair had always been the same bright auburn it was now, only slightly darker than Sansa’s and her own, and both her daughter and the maid knew it. Sansa’s assistance in the lie was expected, but Catelyn still found herself somewhat dismayed by the ease with which her daughter fabricated her tale. Mina’s corroboration of it was a confirmation that she knew what was afoot even if she didn’t know all the reasons as well as a statement of her willingness to stand with them, and Catelyn’s heart overflowed with gratitude for these northerners who even now still accepted her as one of their own.

The auburn haired boy in question burst into Sansa’s room at that point, shouting “Mother! Sansa! They’re here! Come on!” He was halfway out the door again when he saw Roslin standing there holding Brynden. “Oh! You, too, Ros!” Then he bounded out the door and down the corridor.

“Ros?” Catelyn asked her gooddaughter, laughing.

“He’s heard Robb call me that,” Roslin replied with a slight blush, and Catelyn smiled at her. _Please let her be true,_ she thought. _Let her stand by Robb through all this._ If they were successful in all their endeavors, Roslin would temporarily lose her status as the Lady of Winterfell, and as Catelyn did not intend on Ned or herself dying anytime soon, it could be a long time before she regained it. She hoped the girl could truly learn to care more for her son than for the title this marriage had given her.

The family assembled in the courtyard just as Willas Tyrell’s party entered the gates, all save Brynden, whom she had left inside with Mina. Jon appeared from somewhere and silently took his place beside her, just behind Robb, Roslin, and Sansa. He did not look at her or speak, but offered her his arm, and she was very grateful for the cold weather which required gloves. Any diminishment of the physical contact between them was a blessing at this point. Arya and Rickon stood to her other side, and Bran was beside them in his wheeled chair. Hodor had laboriously cleared a path for it, because while Bran didn’t normally use the chair outside in the snow, he didn’t want to meet Willas Tyrell being held up by the big stable boy.

The heir to Highgarden was a handsome man with dark hair and beard, and a man he certainly was, already three and twenty, a full ten years older than Sansa. He sat his horse well, but required assistance to dismount. The man who had helped him down then handed him a silver cane which he leaned heavily on as he walked toward them, and Catelyn noted that the one leg appeared to be completely stiff at the knee, much worse than Ned’s injured leg.

Robb stepped forward in greeting. “Welcome to Winterfell, Ser Willas.”

Willas Tyrell smiled, and Catelyn found she liked the man’s smile. With some amusement, he said, “I fear I am not a Ser, Lord Stark. My leg was crippled before I ever accomplished any feats worthy of knighthood.”

Robb grinned back. “And if I greeted you as Lord Willas, you would remind me your father still lived and you are, as of yet, lord of nothing.”

Tyrell laughed, and Catelyn knew the two men were sizing each other up, and that thus far, each liked what he saw. “Undoubtedly,” the man said. “I suppose if you insist on titling me something for courtesy’s sake, I’d rather the Ser, as I certainly wish no harm upon my father. I am actually fond of him.”

The words were spoken in jest, but Robb’s eyes darkened slightly. “As I am of my father,” Robb said, still courteously, but with just a hint of challenge in his voice which Tyrell acknowledged only with a slight widening of his eyes. “May I present my lady wife, Roslin,” Robb continued, and the man greeted her with compliments. “And my sister, the Lady Sansa,” Robb went on.

Willas Tyrell stopped before Sansa and met her eyes. His smile widened as he said, “It is a great pleasure and honor to meet you, my lady. I fear that the reports of your beauty did not do you justice. But then, I do not see how words could.”

Sansa murmured her gratitude, and although she couldn’t see it from where she stood, Catelyn knew that her daughter’s cheeks were flushed red. She remembered another time her family had gathered in such a manner to meet Robert Baratheon and his party. That day had started the chain of events that saw Sansa betrothed to Joffrey Baratheon and Catelyn’s entire family plunged into ever increasing danger. As she watched this man smile at her daughter and hold onto her hand longer than strictly necessary for courtesy‘s sake, she prayed to Ned’s gods and her own that this day might be the start of something far different.


	10. Eddard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long delay between chapters. There has been a lot going on, both with writing projects and real life. Hopefully, I won't have quite so long a delay for any future chapters.

“I shall require your intercession with your son.”

Stannis Baratheon spoke the words flatly, and for a moment Ned was confused. He had barely gotten to speak to Jon. They’d scarcely had time to assure themselves that the other truly lived and stood in the same room before Stannis’s men had whisked Ned away from his son and off to an audience with the Lord of Dragonstone and claimant to the Iron Throne.

“I need the support of the northern lords,” Stannis continued. “And your bastard informs me that none will follow me unless Winterfell does so first.”

 _Robb. Stannis wishes me to speak to Robb on his behalf._ Slowly, the man’s words began to make sense. “Jon speaks truly, my lord,” he said matter of factly. “The houses of the North will not act without Winterfell.”

“Then you must tell the boy what to do,” Stannis said.

“The boy?” Ned raised an eyebrow. “Do you refer to Robb Stark, the Lord of Winterfell? Or is there an actual child somewhere that you wish me to chasten?” He leaned forward in his chair, wishing that he were still on his feet, but fearing that he might actually fall if he attempted to rise too suddenly. He had gladly accepted the offered chair when brought before Stannis Baratheon after the day’s long ride and the shock of finding Jon alive and safe at the Wall. However much he wished to be completely recovered from all he’d been through, his body insisted on reminding him that he was not.

Stannis Baratheon ground his teeth. “I mean no disrespect to the current Lord Stark,” he said tightly. “But he is young, and he is only lord because you confessed to crimes which I seriously doubt you committed. I have no doubt he would welcome your guidance.”

“Why would the Lord of Winterfell welcome guidance from a traitor? A man of the Night’s Watch?” Ned kept his voice as emotionless as ice. Robert’s younger brother had never been an unjust man, but he was undoubtedly rigid, and Ned needed to know where the man’s mind might be in terms of his own sentence to the Watch.

“You were a man of honor, Stark, before you bent to the Lannisters. You know I am the rightful king, and I know your son will listen to you.”

 _Were a man of honor. Were._ The words were bitter to Ned’s ears. “I have no son, my lord,” he said quietly. “Only my brothers in the Night’s Watch.”

“Why will you not grant me my proper title?” Stannis asked him. “Even your bastard has the courtesy to do that. Perhaps you should ask him what king came to the aid of the Night’s Watch when it was needed. I’ve seen no soldiers from King’s Landing here.”

Ned sighed. “You are Robert’s heir, my lord. I do not deny it. Yet you do not hold the throne. So are you king? You tell me that Robb Stark is Lord of Winterfell only because I am here for crimes you are certain I did not commit. Yet you do not address me by the title I have held since my father and brother died at the hands of the Mad King. Does the king without a throne recognize the lord without a seat?”

Ned had spoken more freely than he intended, but Baratheon’s only reaction was to tighten his jaw muscles even more. The two men stared at each other for a long moment before Stannis finally replied in a soft but firm voice, “Guilty or not, you confessed. You took the oath to the Night’s Watch.”

Hearing the words spoken like that--emotionlessly, without any hint of doubt in the irrevocable nature of such a thing--made him recall bitterly how he’d spoken much the same way to Catelyn. If Lord Stannis’s words could sting him so painfully when he cared nothing for this man, how badly had those words wounded his wife, when she’d heard them from the man who’d sworn to be her husband as long as they both lived. _Oh, Cat,_ he thought. _Forgive me._

“Then I cannot help you, my lord. I have no influence over Winterfell.” He used his arms to push himself up to a standing position, and Stannis Baratheon did the same. “If you will forgive me, Lord Stannis, I fear I am not yet recovered from the wounds I took, and it has been a long day. I ask your leave to retire to my quarters.”

“Sleep well, Stark,” Stannis said. “Since the Old Bear’s death, your brothers have had the devil of a time choosing a Lord Commander. Perhaps your unexpected return will make their decision easier. They could do far worse than choose you.”

Ned felt his blood turn to ice. Jon had barely gotten to tell him of Jeor Mormont’s death. In fact, he hadn’t had time even to accept the reality of it. Certainly, Jon had said nothing of the election of a new Lord Commander. “I . .I cannot . . .” Ned stammered. _I cannot lead the Night’s Watch._ _I do not intend to remain in the Night’s Watch._

He was shaking just a bit as he stood there, and he felt the other man’s eyes take note of it. “You need time to recover, no doubt. But you should think on it, man. A Stark in Winterfell and a Stark leading the Night’s Watch. The North could hardly be in better hands. And should Winterfell call the Northmen to my cause, then the North will have a king they can depend upon as well.”

“My lord,” Ned mumbled, bowing his head and turning to go. His thoughts were too jumbled to speak any further. _I cannot be elected Lord Commander._

Stannis’s men did not accompany him when he left, and he stepped out into the bitter cold on his own, his head feeling dizzy, his bad leg paining him with every step, and the finger he did not have on his left hand aching fiercely in the wind. He began to fear he would simply fall into the snow before he ever made it back to his bunk when he felt hands on both of his arms.

“Steady, my lord. We’ve got you.” He looked toward the voice to see the Tarly boy, Samwell, standing beside him, holding his left arm. When he looked to his other side, he saw Jon holding his right.

“We’ll get you to your bed,” Jon said, looking at him with those grey eyes so like his own.

“No,” Ned said. “No, Jon. We must talk. Take me somewhere we can talk.”

“You cannot possibly walk far right now,” Jon started.

“What about the rookery?” Samwell Tarly interrupted. “It’s right here, and no one’s ever there but Clydas and me. And Clydas isn’t there now.”

“The stairs,” Jon protested.

“We can help him. And then I’ll come back down. I’ll stay at the bottom and let you know if Clydas or anyone comes.”

Ned had no idea why the Tarly boy was so eager to help him, but he was grateful. Jon reluctantly nodded in agreement and soon Ned was settled on a small seat in a room almost entirely lined with caged birds. The birds were remarkably quiet once they’d settled back down after the men’s entry disturbed them.

“They’re ready to bed down for the night,” Samwell said, indicating the birds. “If you keep your voices down, they’ll sleep. They’re used to the company of men.” When neither Ned nor Jon said anything in reply, he cleared his throat softly. “Well . . .I’ll just be down the stairs then.”

Without another word, the Tarly boy turned and left by the staircase. As soon as he had disappeared from view, Jon turned to Ned. “Father, what is this about? You come back half dead, needing nothing so much as your bed, and instead you have me dragging you up stairs for clandestine conversations? Speak your mind so I can get you to your quarters.”

Ned smiled in spite of the gravity of the situation. “I believe that is the first time you have called me Father since I told you the circumstances of your birth,” he said softly.

“And you smile?” Jon asked him incredulously. “For months, while I yet believed you to be my father, you corrected me every time I said the word, telling me that men of the Night’s Watch have no fathers or sons. And now, after telling me you never were my father, my calling you that makes you smile?” Jon kept his voice quiet, but Ned could hear the anger there.

“I was wrong,” Ned said just as quietly. “Spoken words could not change what you are to me any more than the fact that you were born my sister’s child rather than mine ever had.”

Jon looked at him for a long moment with an unreadable expression. He had told Ned he had lived among the wildlings pretending to be one of them at Qhorin Halfhand’s direction, but had given him no details about it before Ned had been taken away to Stannis. Now, Ned wondered if the boy had learned to keep his thoughts and emotions so well concealed during his time beyond the Wall. “I doubt this is what you brought me here to speak about,” Jon said finally.

“No. Stannis Baratheon thinks I should become Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch.”

“So do I,” Jon said quickly. “There is no one more qualified or more respected. Cotter Pyke and Ser Denys have both been in the Watch longer, but neither of them is half the man you are. And Janos Slynt . . .Father, you know Janos Slynt. He’s a vile, wretched excuse for a man. He cannot become Lord Commander.”

“There is no one else?” Ned asked tiredly.

“No one,” Jon said. “Bowen Marsh has withdrawn his name for lack of support. Pyke and Mallister together have at least two-thirds of the vote, but if either withdraws, I fear he’ll throw his votes to Slynt just to spite the other. Their dislike of each other is that deep. Alliser Thorne supports Slynt, of course. They are two of a kind.” Jon shook his head. “The king is impatient for a new Lord Commander to be chosen. Just last night, he basically threatened to step in if someone were not elected. Sam went with Maester Aemon when the contenders were summoned before him and told me what was said. In truth, when nothing was decided last night, I thought his grace had reached the limit of his tolerance. But your arrival here today . . .”

“I cannot be Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, Jon.”

“Of course you can! You were the Lord of Winterfell! You were born to lead men! You are the one person here that everyone will follow. And who can stand up to Stannis Baratheon. Father, Sam told me that King Stannis means to take all the unmanned castles on the Wall and the Gift for the use of his own men!”

Jon’s face was not expressionless now. His grey eyes were alight with enthusiasm, and in his voice Ned could hear a boy who believed the man he called father capable of anything. He put his head in his hands. While Jon’s unwavering belief that he could solve all the problems of the Night’s Watch was certainly unfounded, Ned had to admit that he likely was the most qualified candidate the men had.

“I cannot do it, Jon,” he repeated. “I will have my name withdrawn from consideration immediately.”

Jon stared at him. “You . . .you would leave us to Janos Slynt? Father, I cannot believe you would shirk your duty in such a way. You have more honor than . . .”

“Do not speak to me of honor!” Ned said, his voice far louder than he intended it. A rush of wings accompanied by a few angry quorks followed his outburst. “Jon,” he said, after the birds quieted once more. “There is no honor in taking a title I have no intention of keeping. As for my own honor, I fear I have little enough left. I abandoned it for the sake of my daughters when I spoke the words Cersei Lannister put in my mouth, although for their sakes, I would do it again. Then I lost what little may have remained when I said the words of the Night’s Watch and allowed those words to supersede every vow I’d ever made before.”

Jon continued to stare at him, speechless now.

“Do you not see, Jon?” Ned asked him wearily. “I cannot avoid breaking vows. I cannot keep them all when they contradict each other. Why should someone as corrupt as Cersei Lannister choose which vows I keep? Why should I be forced to keep a vow made with a sword above my daughters’ heads rather than those I made of my own free will? Vows to rule and care for the people of the North as Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, vows to have justice for Robert, for Jon Arryn, for Bran. What of those vows?”

Jon shook his head slowly. “But . . .you said the words. You cannot take them back.”

“I said other words as well, long before. I swore to Catelyn that I would be her husband for all my life and placed a direwolf cloak on her shoulders. Shall I take those words back?”

Now Jon’s face darkened. “Catelyn! Lady Umber, you mean! She forgot those vows quickly enough, didn’t she? You owe her nothing!” Once again the ravens quorked their irritation at the two men who disturbed their rest.

“No,” Ned said softly. “Catelyn forgot nothing. I left her, Jon. I told her I was not her husband, and that she must forget me. She never did, though.

“She wedded another man. She bore his child. Forgive me if I fail to see how that honors any vows the two of you made to each other.” Jon kept his voice quieter, but his anger was no less evident.

“I have been at Last Hearth. Have you not heard? That is where I was taken to convalesce after I was found near the Wall. I have seen Catelyn and her son.” Ned swallowed hard. He had to trust Jon. There was nothing else for it. “My son, Jon. The boy known as Brynden Umber is my child.”

Jon continued to look angry, but now confusion appeared in his eyes as well. “But . .how?”

Ned swallowed again. “When Lord Commander Mormont sent me to collect the men from Lord Tarly, he bid me stop at Winterfell and see for myself that my family fared well. I spent the night there, and when Catelyn came to me, I did not send her away. She insisted she was my wife, would not listen to anything contrary, and she . . .stayed with me.”

“But her marriage to Lord Umber?”

“A sham. Done to protect our son and myself. The child would have been labeled a bastard, and it was no secret I had stopped at Winterfell. Catelyn feared I’d be accused of breaking my vows.”

“You did,” Jon said, and Ned could see how he was trying to make sense of it all. “You did break your vows if you lay with her. And in the eyes of the law, the child is a bastard.”

“I did,” Ned agreed. “I broke my vows to the Night’s Watch, but I intend to keep my marriage vows. I plan to ask Stannis Baratheon to release me from the Night’s Watch and declare Brynden legitimate on the grounds that I was sentenced here unjustly.”

“And what of your wife’s marriage to Lord Umber? What is King Stannis to do with that?” Jon asked.

Ned flinched at the unpleasant emphasis Jon placed on the word wife, but he knew that he was more responsible for any enmity between Jon and Catelyn than they were themselves. “There is no true marriage. Robb has sealed documents from himself, Lord Umber, Lady Mormont, and Lord Glover that Catelyn was known by them to be carrying my child before the wedding took place and that this sham union was never consummated.”

“And what if Stannis loses?”

Ned sighed. “I must endeavor to see that he does not. I know he was badly defeated at the Battle of the Blackwater, but Robb and Catelyn have had information that the Lannisters have troubles of their own, in spite of the Tyrell alliance. The North will follow Winterfell, and if I could get the Lords of the Vale to declare for Stannis with us, it would help clear the way for the River Lords to do so as well. I cannot ask Catelyn’s brother to call his banners against the current occupant of the Iron Throne unless I can offer him significant support, for his lands will be the first to face retribution, the same as before.”

“You seem to have given this a lot of thought,” Jon said after a moment.

“I have.”

“You cannot send all the strength of the Northmen south. Not when you know what is beyond the Wall,” Jon said then, and Ned was proud that the young man recognized that so quickly.

“No,” he said. “That is why all of this must be done carefully. Even if Stannis agrees to my request, and I throw the support of the North behind his claim, it may be a year or more before we can truly move upon any enemy south of the Neck. And then there is Daenerys Targaryen. It appears more and more likely that her dragons are more than rumors. If she chooses to bring them to Westeros in a bid to take the Iron Throne of her ancestors, the legitimacy of anyone else’s claim may no longer matter.”

Jon was quiet for a moment after Ned mentioned the Targaryen girl. _His aunt._ He chose not to speak further of her, however. Instead, he asked, “Do you think the king will grant your request? Will he release you from your vows?”

“Not easily,” Ned sighed. “It is not in his nature to go against something that has been so set in stone. However, he has already asked me to intercede with Robb on his behalf, so he is not unaware that needs the North. Once he realizes he cannot have it unless grants my request, I believe he can be made to see reason. But I cannot become Lord Commander. That would complicate matters entirely too much.”

Jon nodded absently, lost in some thoughts which he did not share with Ned.

“Jon,” Ned asked quietly then. “When I ask this of Stannis for myself, what of your own vow to the Watch?”

“What of it?” Jon said quickly. “I gave it freely enough. No sword hung over my head. I’ve sworn no conflicting oaths.” A look of pain crossed his face then, and he crossed the room from where he had been standing and sat down beside Ned. “I, too, broke my vows,” he said, looking Ned in the eyes. “The Halfhand ordered me to live with the wildlings and do all that they asked. I did that. Even to the point of killing him when they told me to.”

Ned tried not to react, but Jon obviously saw the shock in his eyes.

“They had us. They would have killed him, regardless, and he knew it. I did what he wanted me to do. But it doesn’t change the fact that my brother of the Watch died by my hand.” Jon looked down for a few moments then before raising his eyes and continuing. “Then there was a woman. Her name was Ygritte. The wildlings called her ‘kissed by fire’ because of her hair.”

“Red,” Ned said softly, and Jon nodded.

“I broke my vows with her, too,” he said. “And while I felt guilty about it, still feel guilty about it . . .I can’t say that I’m truly sorry.” He sighed. “But I left her. I left her because I belong to the Night’s Watch. I made my vow of my own free will, and I made no other to anyone before it. I do not intend to break it again. I am a man of the Night’s Watch. Like my Uncle Benjen and countless Starks before me. I will honor my vow as they did, even if I am not a Stark by name.”

“Jon, you are my blood, and you are as honorable as any man ever born of Stark blood no matter your father or the circumstances of your birth. I have always been proud of you, and Lyanna would be the same.” Ned hoped the boy could hear the truth in his words.

Jon looked down again for just a moment. “Thank you for that,” he said. “I have always wanted you to be proud of me. I may have been ashamed of being a bastard . . .” He looked up then, and Ned saw that his grey eyes were glistening. “But I was always proud that you were my father.” Jon’s voice broke just a bit as he said the last word.

“Jon . . .”

“Don’t,” Jon interrupted. “We cannot change anything in the past, but I will help you now if I can. We will say you are too injured, too weary, and feel yourself incapable of becoming Lord Commander now. It is a lie, but I will say it for you.”

Before Ned could reply, Samwell Tarly’s voice came from the stairs. “Jon! Jon? Are you up here? Clydas says Maester Aemon wants you!”

“I’d better go down to Clydas,” Jon said. “Sam will be up to help you down the stairs once I’ve gotten him away.”

Ned nodded, and Jon called out, “I’m here! I’ll come on down, Sam!” as he turned and headed down the staircase.

Ned listened to the ravens flap their wings and quork their displeasure at the shouting, and thought about the man Jon had become. _He is a better man than any who are being considered for Lord Commander,_ he thought. _He is a wiser and better man than I was at his age by far._

After a few moments, Samwell Tarly appeared at the top of the stairs. “Are you you ready to go, my lord?” he asked Ned.

Ned looked up at his son’s friend. “Samwell,” he said, “Who do feel should be Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch?”

“I . . .Well, I . . .” the fat boy stammered, and Ned thought that he actually looked embarrassed, as if caught in some mischief. “I mean . . .I suppose it should be you . . .now that you’re back, my lord.”

“No,” Ned said definitely, intentionally using what Catelyn called his “lord’s voice.” It worked to better effect on Samwell Tarly than it did on Jon. “I will not be Lord Commander, Samwell. There are very good reasons why I must not be. But surely there is an alternative to Cotter Pyke, Denys Mallister, or Janos Slynt? I can’t imagine you had intended to vote for one of them before my return.”

“I . . .I had thought of something, my lord,” the Tarly boy said, and he seemed to be having difficulty meeting Ned’s eyes. “I think Maester Aemon encouraged me in it, although he wouldn’t say so directly. I . . .I think it should be Jon.”

He blurted out the last five words so quickly that Ned almost didn’t understand them, and then stood staring at the floor until Ned spoke.

“I agree with you, Sam,” Ned said softly, and the boy quickly raised his wide eyes then to meet Ned’s. “But can it be done? Can Jon get enough votes to become Lord Commander?”

“I think I know how to make it happen, my lord. You see, if I can speak to both Cotter Pyke and Ser Denys separately and use their mutual dislike and mistrust . . .”

While Samwell Tarly still spoke somewhat hesitantly, Ned noticed a certain enthusiasm and hopefulness in his demeanor now. “Tell me, Sam,” he said, motioning for the young man to sit down with him.

As Samwell spoke of his plan, he gained confidence, outlining to Ned how he could approach each man and get them both to support Jon. Ned listened and found that despite his unassuming and generally fearful nature, the young man had an intelligent mind. His proposed course of action could very well succeed for he had a good understanding of both Pyke and Mallister. Ned encouraged him to proceed with his plan and allowed the young man to help him down the stairs and back to his quarters where he fell into his bed exhausted.

Sleep didn’t find him easily, though. He stared into the dark and wondered if Jon would thank or curse him and Samwell Tarly. While Jon had made it clear that he intended to honor his commitment to the Night’s Watch, becoming Lord Commander was an enormous responsibility, and he was still a very young man. _There is none here better, though,_ Ned thought, not without some pride. And there had been truth in Stannis Baratheon’s earlier words. _A Stark in Winterfell and a Stark leading the Night’s_ _Watch. The North could hardly be in better hands._ He had meant what he said to Jon about his being a Stark in all but name. The moment Jon had expressed concern over the possibility of Ned leading northmen south, away from the the threat of the Others, he had shown himself to be thinking like a leader of the Watch. He would do well as Lord Commander, and he would always have the support of Winterfell, whether Robb or Ned ruled there as lord.

The thought of Robb led Ned’s mind to the raven Sam had promised to send to Winterfell at sunrise, telling Robb of his father’s miraculous survival and safe arrival back at Castle Black. Of course, Robb already knew Ned lived, but now both he and Catelyn would be assured that he had made it back to the Wall from Last Hearth. He hadn’t been able to include any message for Cat, of course, but knowing he was safe would give her some comfort. Hopefully, Jon would be elected Lord Commander, and once he was well settled, Ned could work on Stannis Baratheon. If everything went as Ned hoped, he would have glad tidings to send to his wife indeed.

 _My wife._ Simply allowing himself to think the words caused a small shiver of excitement to run down his spine. Being back at Castle Black had brought back vividly all those long days and weeks and months of forcibly rejecting those words from his mind while never succeeding in banishing the truth of them from his heart. _My wife._ He missed her and the children with every fiber of his being, yet the hope he had of being with them again gave him a warmth he had not felt in all his previous time at the Wall.

While his mind continued to spin in any number of directions, his exhausted body finally fell into sleep, and by the time Ned awoke again, he was alone in his quarters, the men who slept there as well having come in after he fell asleep and gone out again before he wakened. He supposed orders must have been given not to disturb his slumber. Stiffly, he rose to a seated position. Everything hurt, but he felt better rested than he had during his entire journey from Last Hearth.

Cursing the slowness with which he moved, he rose and dressed to go out into the cold, determined to find Samwall Tarly and ask what had come of his efforts. However, before he reached the door, it opened without any warning knock, and Jon entered the room.

“I see that you are not dead,” he said as he looked Ned up and down. “Well, I hope you and Sam are quite pleased with yourselves.”

“Sam and I?” Ned asked. “What has happened?”

“A great deal,” Jon said. “Apparently, your injuries trouble you even more than you led me to believe, for it is most unlike you to have slept through all that occurred last night and into this morning.”

“Jon, what has happened?”

“Good King Stannis lost patience with us last night, I’m afraid. More or less demanded that we choose a Lord Commander if we wished to have dinner. So another vote was taken.”

Ned’s heart skipped a beat. “And was a new Lord Commander elected?”

Jon smiled wryly. “You’re looking at him.” Shaking his head, he added, “But you knew that, didn’t you?”

Relieved and filled with new concerns for the boy all at the same time, Ned sank down to sit on his little bed and motioned Jon to sit as well. “I knew what Samwell intended. I told him I agreed with him.” When Jon said nothing, he added, “You assured me you meant to stand by your vows to the Night’s Watch, Jon. Those vows are as honorable as some of the men who have said them are not. The threat to the Watch, to all of us now, from those things beyond the Wall is grave, and the Night’s Watch deserves to have the best leader it can.”

“How can you say that?” Jon asked softly. “Even Janos Slynt, vile as he is, has not murdered another man of the Watch.”

Ned reached out then to place a hand on Jon’s arm. “You killed Qhorin Halfhand, son, but you did not murder him. He was a dead man already, and so were you. By taking his life with your hand, you obeyed his final order and saved your own life that you might then be here to defend the Wall against the wildlings when they came. Now, the Wall must be defended against a greater enemy than wildlings, and I do not believe anyone understands that better than you. You are young, you are unsure of yourself, and you do have much to learn. But you are the best man for this job, Jon. If I believed otherwise, I would have told Samwell Tarly so.”

Jon looked him in the eyes for a long moment and then nodded slowly. “I will do my best. I fear my first task is to deal with Stannis Baratheon’s demands. I believe he was quite convinced that his ultimatum about a vote would bring him you as Lord Commander. He likely would have sent men after you already this morning had I not left men outside to see that you were undisturbed.”

Ned laughed. “So it is you I must thank for my undisturbed sleep?”

Jon grinned at him. “I did feel you could use the rest, but I admit I enjoyed pushing back at his grace a bit as well. With no Lord Commander, he’s been behaving a bit like the Night’s Watch is his to command. While I am most grateful to him for coming to our assistance, it is my job to to make clear to him that the Night’s Watch now answers to me rather than any of the current aspirants to the Iron Throne.”

Ned could hardly contain his pride in the young man who sat here with him. “Lord Commander Snow,” he said seriously, “I believe the Night’s Watch is in very good hands indeed.”

Over the next several days, Ned found himself moving with greater ease and significantly less pain. He began working with the rangers again, supervising some of their training. He didn’t see as much of Jon as he would like, as the duties of his new position kept the young man more than busy. Audiences with Stannis Baratheon occupied far more of his time than Jon liked, and he had come to Ned after some of these to discuss what had been said. He had asked Ned to come with him to the King’s Tower to meet with Stannis on more than one occasion, but Ned felt it important that Stannis realize Jon was his own man and not his father’s mouthpiece. When Ned brought his own proposal to Stannis Baratheon, it would come only from the former Lord of Winterfell and not from the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch.

He eagerly awaited a raven from Winterfell, knowing Jon would share any news with him as soon as it arrived. Catelyn and the children were never far from his thoughts, but he did not want to push his own agenda forward so soon on the heels of Jon’s election. Even if Stannis released him from his Vows, some of the men would undoubtedly be bitter about it. He had learned that a great many of the men sent here against their will professed to be innocent of the crimes which brought them to the Night’s Watch. While the truth of such matters was impossible to know, Ned was not foolish enough to think himself the only innocent man who’d been forced to take that oath. He feared how such men might react to his being freed from his vows while they remained bound by theirs. He particularly feared the repercussions that might cause for the Lord Commander whom the world believed to be his son. _He is my son in all ways that matter._

As he crossed the snowy ground between his quarters and Donal Noye’s old quarters which Jon had taken for his own, Ned frowned at the prospect of creating problems for the son he must leave here at the Wall. He also feared that Jon was creating some problems of his own. He was certainly endeavoring to live up to the title of Lord Commander, and holding his own against Stannis Baratheon quite well, but Ned feared that in his quest to put his responsibility to lead the Watch above all else, he risked alienating the very men who had put him in the position. Jon was private and somewhat solitary by nature, and Ned understood that well enough, but he could not afford to isolate himself from everyone. Ned had seen the hurt and even anger in some of the young men whom he’d come to recognize as Jon’s friends when Jon would no longer eat at their table or stop to chat with them. He understood Jon’s position, of course, but Jon had to find a way to show those men who had loved him already that they still mattered. He might have sore need of truly loyal friends in the future, especially once Ned was gone.

His musings were interrupted by Samwell Tarly’s shout. “Lord Stark!” he called out, and Ned shook his head. Repeated reminders had yet to keep the Tarly boy from referring to him by the title he could no longer legally claim. He stopped and turned back to wait for the young man, who was breathing heavily as he hurried as quickly as he could through the snow.

“Jon . . .I mean Lord Commander Snow’s . . . not there, my lord,” he panted once he’d caught up to Ned.

“Not in his quarters, you mean?” Ned asked, choosing not to correct Sam’s address of him as it seemed to have no effect except to let others know he was aware of its inappropriateness, and they were quite alone at present.

Sam nodded. “He asked me to tell you to come see him in the storerooms . . .below the Wall.”

Ned involuntarily clenched his jaw as he remembered the last conversation he’d had with Jon below the Wall. That seemed so long ago now, but he could still remember the pain on Jon’s face when he’d told him the truth about his birth. He also remembered his own pain when Jon had told him that Catelyn had . . . _No, I know the truth of that now._ He realized he had actually closed his eyes against the pain of that memory and opened them quickly to see Samwell Tarly looking at him in some concern.

“Are you well, my lord?”

“Yes,” Ned said, more harshly than he intended, “And I have told you I am no lord.” The concern did not leave Samwell’s eyes in spite of his harsh words, and Ned relented somewhat. “A momentary twinge from an old wound, Sam,” he said softly. “Nothing more.” _That is true enough._

Sam seemed to accept that and led Ned to one of the tunnels leading under the Wall. When they reached Jon, he was relieved to note it was not the same room they had been in during that previous conversation. This room was much nearer the entrance and filled with provisions.

“You wished to see me, Jon?” Ned asked, after Samwell had taken his leave.

“Do you see all this?” Jon indicated the stores around them. “It isn’t enough. With Stannis’s men, the wildlings who’ve surrendered to us, and our own men, it will never see us through the winter. It isn’t enough.”

Ned nodded thoughtfully. “What do you intend to do?”

John sighed. “Cut rations, to start with. That will be unpopular, I know, but I see no help for it. It isn’t enough, though. The wildlings need to be settled, and Stannis and his men need to be about their business.”

Ned waited for him to continue.

“I’ve ceded some land in the Gift to Stannis for his men, but I won’t give him the waycastles on the Wall. Those belong to the Watch. I mean to man them once more. We are far too vulnerable as things stand.”

“With what men, Jon?” he asked quietly.

“With whatever men I can find,” he said irritably. He sighed again. “I thought to start with Icemark and Greyguard. I won’t move forward with manning the others until I have the men to do it.” Jon paused as if he had more to say, but then chose not to say it. Ned wondered if he already had a plan for finding more men that he did not wish to share. After a moment’s silence between the two of them, Jon said, “I thought I’d have Bedwyck take charge at Icemark.”

“Bedwyck is a good man,” Ned said. “He’s well respected by the other rangers. You could do much worse.” When Jon did not reply, he asked, “What of Greyguard?”

“I was thinking Janos Slynt.”

“Slynt?” Ned asked, disbelievingly.

“I need him and his poisonous tongue away from the majority of the men. I need him away from Alliser Thorne. And he did lead the Gold Cloaks. However corrupt the man may have been, he has led men before, and I have precious few men with that type of experience.”

“And do you think the erstwhile Lord of Harrenhall will consent to being sent off to a glorified pile of rocks on a barren stretch of the Wall between here and Shadow Tower?” Ned asked him.

“I do not intend to give him a choice.” Jon’s voice carried a certain note of finality, and Ned said nothing further about it. After a moment, Jon spoke again, his voice now sounding more like the boy Ned remembered from Winterfell than the hard Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch. “Stannis’s red priestess intends to burn Mance Rayder,” he said quietly. “And I don’t think I can stop it.”

“Burn him?” Ned knew little enough about this priestess with Stannis Baratheon and even less about her red god, but what he had heard gave him no comfort. He had not spoken to the woman, but had seen her from a distance at her nightfires. A surprising number of men attended them, and they were not all Stannis’s men.

“There is power in a king’s blood,” Jon sighed. “So says the Lady Melisandre.”

“Mance Rayder’s blood is no more royal than mine,” Ned said flatly. “He is nothing more than a deserter from the Night’s Watch. No true king at all.”

“Which I have told her,” Jon said, “But it makes no difference, it would seem. If he is the only king they have, he is the one they will burn. They have no one else of royal blood handy at the moment.”

Jon’s words were spoken merely from contempt for the barbaric act this woman meant to perform, but they struck at Ned’s very heart as he looked at his son who was truly the son of a prince, whose blood was indisputably more royal than Mance Rayder’s whether a bastard or not. He silently thanked the gods that his secret remained safe from this Lady Melisandre.

“It is an evil thing,” he agreed, “but Mance Rayder is Stannis’s prisoner, is he not?” When Jon nodded, he said, “Then I fear you are correct. There is nothing you can do. A king decides what is to be done with his own captives, and the Night’s Watch takes no part in the squabbles of kings.” He sighed deeply. “It is an evil thing, Jon. But your hands are clean in this.”

“Somehow, having clean hands is less comfort than I would like it to be,” Jon replied.

“I know,” Ned told him.

After another silence, Jon changed the subject abruptly again. “I want you to speak to Stannis about releasing you from the Night’s Watch and restoring you to Winterfell.”

“Jon . . .I . . .” Ned started.

“I know you fear how it will affect me, but I fear the reality of this room even more.” Once more, Jon swept his arm around, indicating the stores. “Stannis has been writing to the northern lords. Numerous ravens have been sent out, telling what he’s done for the north at the Wall, asking for their support against the bastard on the Iron Throne.”

“And the responses?”

“What responses? Robb hasn’t responded so none of the others have either. They undoubtedly await word from Winterfell, and he’s either not giving them any or telling them no.” Jon’s grey eyes clouded with anger then. “His grace suggests that it’s because he’s afraid of the Lannisters. He’s a whipped pup who will no longer stir from his castle no matter how righteous the cause. But that isn’t true!”

Ned’s heart swelled to see the loyalty Jon still had to the boy who would always be his brother. “No, Jon, of course it isn’t. Robb is waiting for me. He knew nothing of Stannis being at the Wall when I saw him at Last Hearth, which means any raven which has reached him has come only after his return to Winterfell. Only after we spoke about attempting to free me from my vows here. He knows I am at the Wall, Jon. He undoubtedly awaits to see what I will say to Stannis.”

“You will support King Stannis if he restores your title. You told me that.”

Ned sighed. “I will support Stannis because he is Robert’s heir. But I can offer him no support as a man of the Night’s Watch. And your brother will support no king who holds me to the Night’s Watch. He has made that clear enough to me. So, it appears that my release from the Watch is the only act which will gain the North for Stannis Baratheon. He and I need each other, Jon. But how does this benefit you?”

“I cannot feed him,” Jon said simply. “Stannis understands the importance of defending the Wall. I will grant him that. But he came here primarily because he had nowhere left to go. If he has the strength of the North joined to his, he will want to march south. I have no doubt he will leave some men here, but he will take the main part of his force with him, and I can work at building up my own forces and provisions here.”

Ned nodded. “Should I take an army south with Stannis Baratheon, I would keep significant forces at Winterfell and all the northernmost castles in case the Watch has need of them.” He looked into the eyes so like his own. “I have fought those Others, Jon. I fear them more than any king on any throne. Winterfell will never fail to answer a call to the north.”

Jon nodded. “Talk to Stannis, Father.”

_____________________________________________________________________________________

It was the next day that Ned found himself summoned to the King’s Tower in response to his request for an audience with King Stannis Baratheon. As he was escorted into the room where Stannis awaited him, he was surprised to see that the king was not alone. Seated beside him, and certainly not looking as if she were going anywhere, was Lady Melisandre of Asshai.

This was his first opportunity to observe the woman closely. She was certainly lovely, although he could not easily tell her age. Her hair was a burnished copper, similar in color to Catelyn’s, but more uniform in shade. The color of her hair was echoed in her red dress and in the ruby at her throat on a choker so tight that it seemed to Ned that it must be uncomfortable every time she swallowed. She looked almost to be made of fire, and yet she made Ned feel cold.

He respectfully bowed his head before saying, “Your grace, Lady Melisandre.”

Stannis Baratheon’s thin lips formed a small smile which did not reach his eyes. “You grant me my proper title now, Stark? Why the change of heart?”

“No change of heart, your grace. Titles are words, and words are wind. I have ever considered you Robert’s heir. I told you as much. Now I would speak more with you, if you would listen.”

“Speak,” Stannis said flatly.

“I would prefer to speak with you privately,” Ned said as courteously as he could.

“This is private,” Stannis informed him. “Lady Melisandre is privy to my councils. I value her advice. You may speak in front of her.”

“Speak freely, please.” The woman spoke for the first time, and Ned was struck by her accent which was unlike any he had heard before. “I am most interested in what you would say, as is his grace.”

Ned swallowed uncomfortably. He was unaccustomed to begging favors from anyone. This had been hard enough to contemplate doing with just Stannis. With Melisandre present as well . . .He sighed. There was no help for it, so he began. “I understand you have been seeking the support of the houses of the North.”

“I asked you to intercede with your son. You seemed unwilling.”

“Not unwilling. Unable.” Ned steeled himself and met Stannis’s eyes without flinching. “After I was injured beyond the Wall, I barely made it back across alive. I was taken to Last Hearth by two men who found me nearly dead in the snow, and I spent some time there recuperating.”

Stannis did not speak, and his blue eyes did not waver from Ned’s. Ned could feel the red woman’s eyes upon him as well, but he concentrated only on Stannis Baratheon. “While there, I saw my son, Robb. He was there to see his mother.”

“And did you see Lady Umber as well?” The question came from Melisandre, who obviously knew who Lady Umber was to him.

He turned to look at her as he said, “I saw Catelyn, yes.”

Turning immediately back to Stannis, he continued, “Robb does not accept my sentence, your grace. He accepted the initial terms from the Lannisters in order to secure the safe return of his sisters, the same reason I accepted them. Since that time, however, he has merely been biding his time, and he informed me quite sincerely at Last Hearth that he will accept no king who does not restore his father as Lord of Winterfell.”

With only a moment’s hesitation, Stannis asked him, “And how did you respond to this declaration?”

“I told him I would not wish to take his title away from him.” _That is true. I told Robb he could keep the title. I only wished to be back with my family, free to care for them and help Robb care for the North._

“He did not accept that?”

“He did not. He says I cannot take a title from him that he does not rightfully hold. He promised to care for Winterfell in my name and do all in his power to get my name cleared. He is a rather stubborn young man, your grace.”

“Much like his father,” Stannis said.

 _Much like his mother,_ Ned thought.

“I have had no such request from Robb Stark,” Stannis said then.

“You will,” Ned said certainly. “He did not know where you were when he was at Last Hearth, and he cannot have been back at Winterfell any longer than I have been here. He will not send a raven with such words, your grace. He will send someone to you, though.”

“You speak of what your son wants, Stark. Do you ask this of me for yourself?”

 _Trust Stannis to get right to the heart of the matter._ Ned took a deep breath. “I do. I have served the Night’s Watch for nearly two years now, and I have repeatedly told myself I have no family. It is not true, however, and I cannot make it true with any words. Were it not for my family, I would not be here. I would rather have died in King’s Landing than speak the lies the Lannister woman put in my mouth. My life is not so precious. But they held the knife to Sansa and Arya. You have a daughter, your grace. Would you not sacrifice even more than your life for her sake? That is the choice I made.”

Stannis Baratheon did not respond to his question, but Ned had not expected a response. The cool blue eyes regarded him. “That is the choice you made, but you would go back on it now? Where is the honor in that, Stark?”

Ned fought to suppress the anger he felt. “Where is the honor in any of this, your grace? Where is the honor in what was done to your brother the king? For he was surely murdered although not by my hand. He was cuckolded and denied trueborn children by a faithless woman who bedded her brother and bore his bastards instead. I vowed Robert would have justice. I can do nothing to keep that vow here. I swore I would see justice for Jon Arryn and my son Bran as well, but I forswear myself every day I remain at this Wall, pretending that I can do nothing to fight against those who harmed them.”

“All men promise themselves things they cannot accomplish,” Stannis said then. “The oath of the Night’s Watch is a sacred vow taken before the gods. You, no doubt, swore yours before one of the trees of your old gods.”

“There is only one god,” Melisandre interjected softly. “No false gods have power.”

Ned ignored her, keeping his eyes on Stannis. “And what of the family which that oath says no longer exists?” he asked this impossibly coldly rational man. “Did I not take a sacred oath when I created that family? When I said the words that made Catelyn my wife before her gods and witnesses? I took that oath first and of my own free will. How can it have been supplanted by a forced oath taken later?”

Stannis ground his teeth as he thought about Ned’s words. Then he shook his head. “It is moot point, is it not? The woman who was your wife has taken another man as her husband.”

Ned shook his head. “She has not.”

Melisandre spoke then, as if she had suddenly understood something. “You ask this for the woman. You want her.”

Before Ned could respond, Stannis said, “She’s borne him a son, man. Your bastard told me of it.”

“The child is mine!” Ned shouted, unable to listen to any more talk of Catelyn and Brynden belonging to another man. After a moment, he spoke into the silence that followed his outburst. “I spent one night at Winterfell when I was sent to bring men to the Wall. Catelyn found herself to be with child after that night. Lord Umber wed her to protect her, the babe, and myself. But there is no true marriage between them.”

Stannis stared at him. “Another bastard? I would have thought you’d know better.”

Ned stared back at the man. _Know better?_ He remembered that night at Winterfell in great detail. He had thought he knew many things then, but none of had them mattered when confronted with the warm reality of the woman he loved, the woman he hadn’t seen in over a year, and who’d been suffering and hurting all because of him. _Know better?_ He realized then that Stannis Baratheon couldn’t possibly know what it felt like to love a woman as he loved Catelyn. He hoped that would not prevent him from being swayed by his argument.

“Not a bastard,” he said firmly. “If my marriage vow takes precedence over my oath to the Night’s Watch, as I believe it does, then Brynden is a trueborn Stark.”

“If . . .” Stannis appeared to consider the prospect. “But there are those who would always challenge it. Your wife has been living with Jon Umber.”

Ned laughed somewhat bitterly. “No one who has seen him will question it, your grace. You have seen Jon Snow. Brynden looks at least as much like me as Jon does. And my son Robb had the foresight to gather together several bannermen who all put their seals to documents prior to the wedding of Lord Umber and Lady Catelyn that they knew her to be carrying my child before this sham wedding ever took place.”

Stannis once more visibly ground his teeth as he thought. “And if I restore your title and your wife, and legitimize this babe as a Stark, you will call the North to my cause?”

Ned took a deep breath. “I will,” he said. Then before Stannis could speak again, he continued. “But you must know, your grace, that in my son’s efforts to reach out on my behalf, he has sent men as far as Essos. He has reason to believe Daenerys Targaryen’s dragons are real.”

“Do you mean you would desert me for this Targaryen girl?” Stannis sounded irate at the thought, and Ned almost regretted speaking of Aerys’s daughter and her dragons, but he refused to deceive Robert’s brother in any way.”

“No, your grace. I helped your brother remove the Targaryens from the Iron Throne. I will be your man. I will fight for you as long as we have reason to fight, and I will never fight against you. But Aegon the Conqueror burned his way through Westeros. If Daenerys Targaryen does similarly, and like her ancestor cannot be stopped, I will not allow the North to burn needlessly.”

“You would kneel rather than die,” Stannis said scornfully.

“I would fight rather than die, and will die if need be,” Ned corrected him. “But I would not see countless northmen, women and children die for no reason. No more than I would allow my daughters to die needlessly in King’s Landing. I have told you the man I am, your grace. If you would have that man, I would be yours."

“I would never have taken you for an honorless craven.”

Before Ned could give voice to his anger at that characterization, Melisandre of Asshai laughed. It was a low pitched musical sound, and she reached out to put a hand on Stannis Baratheon’s arm. “This man is no craven, and he has more honor than most, I think. He has spoken truth to you even when it could harm him. No one else here tells you things you do not wish to hear except Jon Snow. I see now where he learned that.”

Turning to Ned, she simply asked him, “Do you believe Stannis Baratheon is the rightful king of the Seven Kingdoms?”

“I do,” Ned answered without hesitation.

She smiled then, and Ned could have sworn the ruby at her throat actually glowed. “He is,” she said, “But he is more than that. I tell you, Lord Stark, that he is Azor Ahai reborn. He will stand against the Great Other and defeat it as well as any false kings or queens. The power of R’hllor is with him. You will see his enemies and all the false gods fall before him.”

Ned looked at her levelly. “My lady,” he said, “I will not speak against your god or the god of my king, but I am a northman, and I will keep the gods I always have. The old gods who have no names. I have said I would not allow the North to burn needlessly, and I meant it. I will not sacrifice its people to dragons. Nor will I sacrifice its gods to your nightfires.”

The sound of Stannis Baratheon’s laughter surprised him, and he looked back to see the man regarding him with both amusement and respect in those dark blue eyes, so reminiscent of Robert’s. “It would appear I am not the only person Lord Stark is willing to tell unpleasant truths,” he said to Lady Melisandre.

“Lord Stark?” Ned asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Lord Stark,” Stannis confirmed.

“Winterfell is mine?”

“Yes.”

“And Catelyn? Brynden?”

Stannis sighed. “I shall require the documents from your son, but I shall do as you request regarding them as well.”

Ned felt almost lightheaded. He could scarcely believe it was done. All that he had promised Catelyn at Last Hearth had been accomplished. Now, he had only to wait for Stannis to send out a formal decree and his life was his own again. That thought was enough to cheer him in spite of the specter of impending war.

A knock on the door of the room interrupted his thoughts.

“What is it?” Stannis called irritably.

“Lord Commander Snow, your grace,” a voice answered. “He says that he has to . . .”

“Send him in,” Stannis interrupted.

Jon entered the room almost before Stannis finished speaking, and his face looked grim.

Stannis seemed not to notice. “Congratulate your father, Lord Snow,” he said. “He is once again the Lord of Winterfell.”

“Then perhaps you should send him there,” Jon said, holding out a rolled parchment to Ned. He could see the broken direwolf seal.

“From Catelyn?”

Jon nodded. “From Robb, nominally, but I can read Lady Stark’s hand in it. A great many things seem to have happened.”

As Ned took the parchment and opened it to read, Stannis asked. “Wait. Do you mean that Lady Umber . . .Stark . .is already at Winterfell?”

“Yes,” Jon said. “She and Lord Umber traveled there with Robb when he returned from Last Hearth. Let him read, your grace. You will want to know the contents of this letter as well.”

The others in the room then remained quiet as Ned read through the letter, written in Maester Luwin’s neat script, but almost certainly dictated by Catelyn regardless of bearing Robb’s name. Ned’s jaw muscles tightened as he read, and he felt his heart beat faster. When he had finished, he handed the parchment to Stannis Baratheon.

“I must go to Winterfell,” he said.


	11. Catelyn

The air had a definite chill as Catelyn walked through the godswood, but it was not bitterly cold. She had not entered the godswood of Winterfell since her wedding to Jon Umber, and she tried very hard to keep thoughts of that day out of her mind now. She had no idea where Jon had slept last night after the feast for the visitors from Highgarden nor where he was now, but she didn’t truly want to face him anyway. He had sat beside her at the High Table last night, the two of them seated just to the right of Roslin, Robb having given the place at his left to Willas Tyrell with Sansa on the other side of him. No one seemed to notice that they spoke little and that she had excused herself early to her chambers, pleading the need to care for Brynden. Had she stayed, people would have expected her to dance with her nominal husband, and she couldn’t even bear to consider his putting his arms around her now.

She knew Sansa had danced only once each with Robb (her only proper dance), Bran (who had laughed as she'd spun his wheeled chair around), and Rickon (who had jumped up and down and tugged on her hands hard enough nearly to pull her over), and spent the the rest of the evening conversing with the heir to Highgarden who, of course, could not dance with that leg of his. Robb had told her all of this as they broke their fast together this morning. Apparently, her children had all gotten to the Great Hall before she did, and the girls were already gone.

“They are in the godswood with Willas Tyrell,” Robb had said with a barely concealed smile.

Catelyn had raised an eyebrow, and Robb had laughed. “He expressed an interest in seeing it, and Sansa volunteered to show it to him. Arya immediately said she was coming along.” He’d laughed louder then. “You should have seen her, Mother. She had Nymeria with her and they were both looking at poor Tyrell as if they might claw him to shreds if he so much as touched Sansa. I didn’t feel it necessary to insist on any other chaperone.”

Catelyn had laughed then, herself. “No, I imagine Sansa is safe enough, although perhaps we should send someone to see to the gentleman’s safety.”

Robb had looked more serious then. “Actually, Mother, I was hoping you might go talk to him.”

Catelyn had again raised her brow but said nothing, waiting to see what else Robb would say. “I know I have to speak to the man about this whole betrothal thing, but I’d like to hear your impression of him first, and you haven’t really spoken to him at all,” he told her.

“I couldn’t stay in the Hall any longer, Robb,” she’d said simply.

He hadn’t asked her any questions about that. Likely he knew where Jon had slept last night, even if she didn’t. He knew things were strained between them at least. She’d seen that in his face yesterday. Her son was growing into a keen observer of the people around him, and while it made her proud and would serve him well as Lord of Winterfell, she wished he would observe her a little less closely.

“You could speak with him in the godswood. Surely, the girls need to be sent to lessons.”

“Sansa won’t like that.”

“Send her anyway,” Robb said. “Remind this man how young my sister truly is. She is in no way old enough to be a bride any time soon.”

Catelyn had smiled again. “As you wish, my lord. Shall I tell him about his letter?”

“Damn!” Robb had exclaimed. “What with everything else, I’d forgotten about that. Give it to him, if you like. It’s in Father’s solar. I won’t be there for some time.” Sighing, he’d continued. “Apparently, there is some issue with the functioning of the north gate. While it is little used, I need to know that it is in good working order. I intend to inspect it myself this morning with some reputable builders.”

Making her way through the sentinel trees, Catelyn smiled now at the careful way her son oversaw everything at Winterfell and thought again how much his father’s son he truly was. It made her heart ache even more at Ned’s absence. Mayhaps a letter would come from him soon. She was startled out of her reverie by the sound of Sansa’s laughter.

“Northmen don’t pray to trees, my lord,” she said in a gently correcting tone. “Northmen pray to the old gods, and the weirwoods are their homes. The old gods don’t have a form, really. Not like the Seven, I mean.”

“But you keep the Seven, do you not, Lady Sansa? I saw that you have a sept here outside your great Hall.” Willas Tyrell’s voice. Catelyn realized they must be in the grove before the heart tree, and she walked that way.

“I do keep the Seven, my lord,” Sansa was saying clearly. “Septa Mordane taught me all the prayers.” Catelyn could hear the catch in her daughter’s voice as she mentioned her septa, murdered in King’s Landing on the day of Ned’s arrest, and she wondered if Willas Tyrell heard it and knew its cause. “I have prayed there with my lady mother since I was a very little girl. But I am a Stark of Winterfell. I come to the godswood with my lord father as well. Or at least, I did come here with him.” Again that deep sadness in her voice.

Catelyn chose to make her presence known then, stepping into the grove and saying, “By the old gods and the new,” She smiled at Willas Tyrell. “Surely, you have heard men swear so, but I say to you, my lord, that my own children have truly lived by that saying all their lives.”

Willas Tyrell returned her smile, she was struck again by what a pleasant smile the man had. “Lady Stark,” he said warmly. Immediately, he realized his mistake, “Lady Umber,” he corrected quickly. “Please forgive me.”

She shook her head. “No forgiveness needed, my lord. I have been Lady Stark nearly half my life, and Lady Umber for only a year. I can hardly fault you for calling me by the name half of Winterfell still uses to address me.” She noted that Tyrell and Sansa stood together just before the heart tree where they had been looking at its carved face, but they did not touch. Arya stood a little apart from them, hand in the fur of Nymeria’s neck, glaring at Tyrell with open dislike.

“Girls,” she said, addressing both of them. “Maester Luwin has asked that you come to lessons. The boys were heading to the Maester’s Turret from the Great Hall when I left to come here.”

Sansa’s eyes opened more widely and her lips started to form a protest, but Arya was quicker. “Come on, Sansa,” she said somewhat rudely. “The maester is waiting for us.” Catelyn bit her lip to keep from smiling at her younger daughter‘s eagerness to get her sister away from Willas Tyrell.

“But . . .” Sansa said somewhat helplessly.

“I would not be the cause of your missing your lessons, Lady Sansa,” Willas Tyrell said courteously, turning that smile of his toward her. Sansa’s cheeks colored slightly, and she looked down. “I hope I shall see you again at the midday meal, my lady?”

“Yes . . .yes, my lord, you will.” She looked up at Catelyn. “I truly have to go, Mother?”

“Yes, sweetling,” Catelyn said, smiling at her. “I’ll do my best to entertain our guest. While he may not find my company as charming as yours, I imagine we’ll do all right.”

“Certainly, my lady,” Tyrell agreed.

Sansa curtsied prettily, and then was nearly pulled over by Arya tugging on her arm. Catelyn smiled after them as she watched her girls disappear into the godswood in the direction of a gate, Nymeria following at their heels.

“You must miss them terribly, being at Last Hearth.”

Catelyn looked up to see Willas Tyrell looking at her closely. “Of course,” she said. “Although I at least know they are safe at home so it is a far less distressing separation than when they were in King’s Landing.”

His expression betrayed no particular shock at her honest but almost treasonous sentiment. “Well, I must certainly thank you for the welcome I have received here at Winterfell, especially considering what your family has suffered.”

So, he did not intend to ignore that they had suffered. “Do not thank me, Lord Willas,” she said formally. “My son and his lady wife are your hosts. My lord husband and I are merely guests here, the same as you.”

Tyrell actually laughed at that. “My lady, you and I both know that is hardly the truth. Every servant here treats you as the Lady of Winterfell, and it is clear from my conversations with Lord Robb last night and again at breakfast that he respects you as such as well.”

Catelyn bristled at that. “My son would not disrespect his own wife so, my lord. Lady Roslin Stark is the Lady of Winterfell. I am the Lady of Last Hearth. You would do well to remember it.”

Tyrell put up his hands in a conciliatory gesture. “Forgive me, my lady. I did not mean it like that. I only meant to respond to your plain speech with some of my own. Of course, Lord Robb gives his lady wife all the respect due her title. I would expect nothing less from all I have heard of him. But he values your opinions, as well he should. I have been told that Lord Eddard always respected you greatly, even to the point of leaving you in charge of Winterfell when he went south with King Robert, and long before, during the Greyjoy Rebellion. Was I misinformed?”

“You were not.”

Tyrell smiled again. “Then let’s not pretend your presence here during my visit is coincidental, Lady Umber. You are here to assist your son in determining why I wish to wed your daughter and whether or not it is advantageous for House Stark.”

Catelyn regarded him carefully. “I am here to help Robb and Sansa decide what to do about your offer of marriage,” she acknowledged. “But advantages to House Stark?” Her laugh was bitter, and she knew it. “My lord, I ceased to hope for advantages for House Stark when my lord husband was falsely arrested and sent to the Wall. I am a mother, Lord Willas, and I seek only to have my children safe and as happy as they can be. Nothing matters more to me than that.”

“I would keep your daughter safe, my lady, and do all I could to make her happy.”

“Why?”

“Why?” He repeated her question, seeming surprised by it. “Why, because I am an honorable man, Lady Stark, and if I take your daughter to wife, I will do nothing less than right by her.”

She ignored the fact that he had forgotten to call her Lady Umber again. Whatever the truth of her marriage, both of them knew she was acting as Catelyn Stark, mother of Sansa Stark now. “I tend to believe you mean that, my lord,” she told him. “But why marry her at all? Are there no suitable young women south of the Neck? No women closer to your age, who haven’t been publicly humiliated by the boy who sits the Iron Throne?”

“I . . .” He hesitated, and Catelyn was not sure if he were at a loss for words or simply trying to choose his next words carefully. Whatever the cause of his hesitation, she chose to fill the silence herself.

“What do you want of the North? Of my son? You said you wished to answer my plain speech with some of your own, so speak plainly. You do not come here all the way from Highgarden, not even staying in King’s Landing to attend your own sister’s wedding to the king, out of desire for my daughter. You’ve never met her before. And while she is undoubtedly already a great beauty who will only grow more beautiful over the next few years, she is but three and ten to your three and twenty. Ten years from now the ten years between you will not be so great a difference, but they are today, my lord. You cannot deny that. So what do you want? Or more precisely, what does House Tyrell want?”

He looked at her a long moment before replying. “Lord Tyrion was correct about you, my lady. When he heard I rode north to court your daughter, he told me I should count myself lucky if I only had to deal with the Young Wolf rather than his lady mother.”

Catelyn snorted. “Tyrion Lannister has no more reason to love me than I do him.”

Willas smiled. “Perhaps not, my lady. But he does seem to respect you as a formidable opponent.” He sighed and continued, “As to what I want with your daughter, I do need to take a wife at some point, Lady Stark. It is my duty as heir to Highgarden, and there are few maidens as highborn as your Sansa--the eldest daughter of Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfull and Lady Catelyn Tully of Riverrun.” He waved aside her protest. “Whatever misfortunes have fallen upon your family, no one denies the nobility of either of those Houses. More importantly, the Seven Kingdoms remain at war. My sister may be the queen, but her king is a child whose hold on most of the land is tenuous at best. My concern is Highgarden and the Reach. I must see it safe and well protected. I would prefer my family safe as well. Surely, you understand that.”

Catelyn nodded and waited silently for him to continue.

“The North is vast, and there is power here yet, even if it has been beaten down. I do not believe these Northmen would care to fight for any of the claimants to the Iron Throne, my lady. But I believe they will ever be loyal to House Stark, and loath to act against a daughter of their former lord. Lord Tywin is in favor of this marriage as a means to bring your son and his bannermen more firmly into his fold, thinking that a marriage of our Houses would cause Lord Robb to support House Tyrell, in effect supporting King Joffrey.” He gave her a half-smile. “I am not so optimistic as that, knowing what you have suffered at the hands of the Lannisters. I would be pleased to simply see the North remain out of the conflict.”

“You don’t know,” Catelyn said, and she heard in her voice the ice of winter, an echo of Ned’s own frozen fury when he was angered.

“My lady?” Tyrell asked, confused but courteous, looking at her expression with some concern.

“You cannot possibly know what we have suffered at the hands of the Lannisters, or you would never have had the gall to ride in here and blithely suggest taking my daughter south to live happily in a world they have created and they control while we simply live out our lives here, looking the other way and pretending we do not know them for the villains they are.” She realized she actually trembling and took a deep breath to steady herself. She could ill afford to lose her temper with this man. The words she’d already spoken were treasonous enough, but she stood as tall as she could and looked Willas Tyrell in the eye. “I wish to know if you are here only as the future Lord of Highgarden, only acting in the interest of your own House, or if you are indeed simply another Lannister puppet.”

“I am no man’s puppet!” Tyrell looked truly angry now. She had touched a nerve. “By the gods, I did not come here to have my honor questioned and be insulted! Your younger girl has already called me a cripple unworthy of her sister, and now you call me a puppet! If you had no intention of considering my suit, why did you allow me to come here, Lady Stark?”

Catelyn almost smiled at him, pleased that he resented any implication of being a Lannister instrument. “Lady Umber,” she corrected gently. “I didn’t allow you to come. Lord Robb Stark invited you to Winterfell, my lord. I am simply a mother trying to take the measure of the man who would wed my daughter. Forgive me if I seem overly suspicious, but the last time anyone asked for my daughter’s hand, she and everyone I love suffered for it. I would not have that repeated.”

After a moment, Willas Tyrell sighed. “Lady Umber,” he said quietly, “I do not wish to be your enemy. I truly believe a marriage between our Houses can benefit all of us.” He smiled sadly at her. “I fear the little Lady Arya considers me an enemy whatever I say. I had hoped to fare better with you.”

Catelyn continued to look the man directly in the eyes. “I fear my daughter considers most men her enemies, my lord. She somehow escaped the Red Keep on the day of her lord father’s arrest while every one of Lord Stark’s leal men were murdered around her. The septa who had been with my daughters all their lives was murdered that day as well. Arya then lived for days and days in the alleys of Flea Bottom surviving on scraps, terrified of being caught by Joffrey’s men. They tell me she fought like a wolf when men finally found her to tell her she was to be sent home after my husband’s false confession.” She noticed that Tyrell did not change expression at her characterization of Ned’s confession as false. “Then she was brought home with her sister,” Catelyn continued quietly. “To find her father sent to the Wall and her mother eventually to be married off to the furthest corner of the North. Do not expect to find any love from Arya for Joffrey Baratheon’s goodbrother.”

“I . . .I did not know, my lady,” Tyrell said quietly. “I had not heard all that Lady Arya had suffered.”

Catelyn shrugged slightly. “She is not the only one. Would you prefer to come back to the Keep, my lord? The weather is reasonably mild for us today, but surely it must still seem very cold to you.”

Tyrell seemed grateful for the change of subject as well as the apparent truce Catelyn offered. He smiled and stepped toward her. “In truth, it is rather . . .” His words were cut off as he suddenly pitched forward, his bad leg seeming to catch and throwing him off balance. He went down, landing on one knee hard, the bad leg stuck out straight at an awkward angle.

Catelyn instinctively went to take his arm, but he jerked away from her. “No!” he shouted. “I can get up myself. I am not helpless!”

She watched him brace his cane firmly into the snow and use it to pull himself slowly and painfully to a standing position. He was breathing somewhat heavily, but after a moment he said stiffly, “Are you ready to return to the Keep, Lady Umber?”

 _Stupid man,_ Catelyn thought. She could easily have assisted him in rising. Yet, she supposed such pride was not so different than she had seen often in other men. _Ned is too proud to allow anyone to see his fear or weakness save me, and even that_ _took a long time._ As she took the arm that Willas Tyrell offered her and matched her pace to his own slow, stiff steps, she wondered if this man could ever allow someone close enough to share his burdens or if the injury to his leg had wounded his heart to the point that he kept it tightly encased in his pride.

As they exited the godswood and started across the courtyard toward the Keep, Catelyn became aware that he was moving more slowly, and she adjusted her arm to allow him to lean into it nearly as much as he leaned on his cane. He did not try to pull away from her, but she heard him swear softly under his breath.

“My lord,” she said softly. “It is the cold. It is unkind to old injuries.” She remembered suddenly her first sight of Ned walking with a limp that long ago day in Winterfell’s courtyard. “Your leg will do better inside the warmth of the Keep.”

The man beside her clenched his jaw. “I would have you and your son see me as more than just a cripple, my lady,” he said bitterly.

She stopped then and turned to face him. Looking him directly in the eyes, she addressed him almost as she might one of her own children. “Willas Tyrell,” she said firmly, but not unkindly, “You have seen my son, Bran. He has no use at all of either of his legs. Do you believe I value him less for it?”

Willas Tyrell blinked. “I . . .of course not, my lady.”

“Then you should know I’m not a great enough fool to believe the measure of a man is best taken by judging the quickness of his step.”

He continued to stare at her a moment and then smiled just a little.

“A letter came for you,” she told him. “The raven arrived the day before you did from King’s Landing. If you will allow me to assist you back to the Keep and my son’s solar, I will give it to you.”

His eyes widened at that, but he nodded his assent. “I would be most grateful for your assistance, Lady Umber.”

Slowly, they made their way into the Keep and up the stairs to Robb’s _Ned’s_ solar, and she quickly spied the roll of parchment, seal still unbroken among several other documents on the desk. She seated herself in Ned’s chair, gestured for Tyrell to take any of the other seats and handed him the letter across the desk.

He looked at it a moment and then looked back at her. “The seal is not broken,” he said.

“It is addressed to you,” she said simply.

He nodded slightly once and then broke the seal and began to read. “It is from my brother Garlan,” he said as he saw the script. “I recognize his handwriting.” Then he was silent.

After a moment, Catelyn saw the color drain from his face and felt a cold dread grip her own heart. She willed herself to remain silent and allow him to finish reading. When he did, he lowered the parchment to his lap and continued to stare at it without speaking or looking at her. Unable to take the silence any longer, she asked him gently, “Is it bad news, my lord?”

He startled almost as if he’d forgotten her presence and met her eyes slowly, his own eyes filled with confusion and disbelief. “Joffrey . . .” he said, shaking his head slightly as if to clear it. “Joffrey Baratheon is dead.”

“Dead?!” Catelyn exclaimed. “How?”

“Choking . . .or poison. There would seem to be two views. It happened at the wedding feast. My sister’s wedding . . .” His voice trailed off at that.

“Poor girl,” Catelyn said, and she meant it. “Twice widowed so young in such terrible ways.”

Tyrell nodded absently and went back to staring at the parchment.

Catelyn thought for a moment and decided to speak. “She is better off, though.”

Tyrell looked up again at that.

“She may not be a queen, but the Lannister bastard was a monster. No crown was worth marriage to him.”

“Lannister bastard? You speak of Stannis Baratheon’s accusations,” he said.

She shook her head. “I speak of Cersei Lannister’s own admission to my husband. To Lord Stark,” she clarified. “He confronted her when he discovered the truth about her children in order that she might take them and flee to Essos. He feared for the children’s lives once he would tell Robert the truth. She told him outright all three were her brother’s. She also admitted they had pushed my son from that window because he saw them together here at Winterfell.” She watched Willas Tyrell’s eyes grow wide with shock. “That is why my lord husband was arrested. He offered Cersei Lannister mercy, and she repaid him with treachery.”

“You . . .you accuse the queen of . . .”

“I accuse the queen of nothing,” Catelyn said sharply. “My son, Robb, has bent the knee to King Joffrey, remember? Although I suppose it’s King Tommen now. What I say within these walls is of no consequence and should you choose to repeat such words to anyone in King‘s Landing, I will deny them. Neither my son, the Lord of Winterfell, nor my husband, the Lord of Last Hearth, will take kindly to my being called a liar.”

“Why are you telling me these things, Lady Umber?”

“I am telling you nothing except that your sister is more fortunate than you think.” Catelyn’s mind was still reeling from the news of Joffrey’s death. In her mind’s eye, she saw the marks on Sansa’s chest and back, the marks she tried so hard to hide, but had finally spoken to her mother about. She had no tears to waste on Joffrey Baratheon who was no Baratheon at all. She only wondered how this news might affect their own plans to bring Ned home. She feared the impact would be small, as Tywin Lannister and his deceitful, incestuous daughter held the power in King’s Landing. Did it really matter which of her bastards actually sat on that ugly metal chair?

“I am not so certain, Lady Umber,” Willas Tyrell said quietly. “There is more in the letter. It would appear my father and grandmother are already pushing to have Margaery wed to the younger boy, King Tommen.”

Catelyn actually laughed with the shock of that statement. “How ambitious is your House, my lord? Renly Baratheon, Joffrey Baratheon, and now a little boy of nine years? Your lord father is quite determined that Margaery become a queen, isn’t he?” Willas did not reply, and Catelyn softened her words. “Tommen is only a child, of an age with my Bran, but he is nothing like Joffrey. He may well grow to be a kinder man than his elder brother ever would have.”

“Is he not also a monster of incest? Did you not just say that all of the queen’s children are bastards?”

Catelyn shook her head. “A bastard he is, the child of both Lannister twins, so I suppose you do have reason to fear the blood in his veins. But that is not why I called Joffrey a monster.” She swallowed. “If you ever wed my daughter, you will know why I am glad of Joffrey Baratheon’s death, however it came about. She bears the scars, my lord, where that evil boy had her beaten when he heard of Robb’s victory in the Whispering Wood and even worse after her father’s confession. Apparently, he wanted my lord husband’s head, and as he was denied that, he took his payment in my daughter’s flesh before she was returned to me at Riverrun.”

“Gods be good,” Tyrell whispered. “Had I known this, I would have called him out myself, my lady. I am no swordsman, but I would never have let such a thing stand, I assure you.”

Catelyn smiled grimly. “So you say, and I believe you mean it, but he was the king, my lord. Kings are rarely held accountable for their atrocities.” She remembered Ned’s nightmares about Elia Martell and her children. “And when they are,” she continued, thinking of Brandon Stark and his father, “It tends to lead to war.”

“This time it led to murder and a trial,” Willas said. “Lord Tyrion has been convicted of murdering the king and sentenced to death.”

“The Imp?” Catelyn exclaimed, shocked once more by this revelation. “But how? Why?”

Once more, Tyrell shook his head. “I do not know. Garlan says only that Lord Tyrion was serving the king’s wine just before he began to gasp for air. He and Margaery were the only ones near him. When the boy began to struggle for breath, his mother ran to him and accused her brother immediately after he died.”

“What of Lady Margaery, or Queen Margaery, I suppose, as the wedding had taken place?”

“You accuse my sister?” The same flash of anger Catelyn had glimpsed in the godswood appeared in the man’s eyes once more.

“Of course not,” Catelyn said hurriedly. “I only mean that if she and the Imp were beside Joffrey when he died, were any fingers pointed at her? What did she do when her husband took ill? Does your brother say?”

Tyrell scanned the letter again. “He says only that Grandmother moved her away from the king quickly and stayed right with her throughout the ordeal.” A very thoughtful expression crossed his face then, but it was gone as quickly as it appeared. “Garlan didn’t wish the letter to reach Winterfell long before I did, so he did not send it until after the trial. Tyrion was condemned and is held in the Black Cells awaiting execution. Lord Tywin seems favorably disposed to betrothing King Tommen to Margaery even though Queen Cersei objects. My father is not overly concerned about her objections as Lord Tywin has removed her from the small council and apparently intends to send her to Casterly Rock after her brother’s execution. Of course, depending on how long this letter took to reach Winterfell, that may have already occurred.”

Catelyn closed her eyes and breathed deeply. How many times had she imagined toppling Cersei Lannister from power, exacting vengeance for the pain the woman had inflicted upon her family? It appeared her prayers had been answered in that at least. Cersei’s golden son was dead, and her own father was sending her away from her remaining son. She felt no pity for the Lannister woman, but she discovered she took no particular joy in it either. She hated the woman, to be sure, but having feared so greatly for her own children and suffered lengthy separations from them she couldn’t bring herself to rejoice in any mother losing a child.

“So Tywin Lannister holds all the power in King’s Landing now,” she said softly. She rose from Ned’s chair and walked acoss the room, contemplating how this changed the game. Tywin was a craftier opponent than his daughter without a doubt, and just as ruthless, but he was also more pragmatic and not as invested in hating those who opposed him. Mayhaps, he would be more amenable to negotiating acceptable terms for Ned’s reinstatement which would avoid the need for more battles.

As she stood there wondering how best to proceed now, her thoughts were interrupted by Robb’s voice, loud and excited from the corridor. The door to the solar burst open revealing both Robb and Maester Luwin, and he smiled widely as he saw her there. “Mother! We’ve had a letter from Father! He’s . . .” Robb stopped speaking abruptly as he noted Willas Tyrell still seated in the seat in front of Ned’s desk.

“Ser Willas,” he said stiffly. “I see my mother has given you your letter. I hope it carried good news.”

“Robb . . .” Catelyn started, but Willas Tyrell interrupted her.

“It did not, Lord Stark,” he said bluntly, rising to his feet with much more grace than Catelyn would have imagined him capable of earlier. “Joffrey Baratheon is dead, apparently poisoned at his own wedding, and his uncle, Tyrion Lannister, has been sentenced to die for the crime. I take it you have had some communication from the former Lord of Winterfell at the Wall?”

Catelyn would have found the dumbfounded expression on Robb’s face comical in any other situation. “Sit down, Robb,” she said quietly. “We have a great deal to talk about.” She looked longingly at the parchment in his hand. A letter from Ned. She wanted to snatch it from him and hold it close, a tiny tangible connection to the husband she missed so desperately, but she had to tell Robb about events in King’s Landing and she could hardly discuss Ned freely in front of Willas Tyrell. _He is alive,_ she told herself. _He must have reached the Wall safely to send a letter_.

Robb seated himself in the chair she had occupied herself earlier and, once she and Maester Luwin had also found seats, she briefly filled Robb and the maester in on the contents of Tyrell’s letter from his brother. Tyrell himself was silent, as if wanting to hear Catelyn’s take on the events.

There was silence in the room when she finished speaking until Maester Luwin started to speak. “Mayhaps we can . . .”

Robb held up a hand silencing the man. “So Margaery Tyrell is a widow once again,” he said. He turned to Willas Tyrell. “What do you think of this plan to wed your sister to Tommen Baratheon?”

The heir to Highgarden met his eyes without flinching. “I think that my sister has the makings of an excellent queen, and that my father appears determined to see that she becomes one--even if that requires her to wed a bastard or a child.”

 _Well played,_ Catelyn thought, as Robb leaned back slightly, regarding Tyrell with interest. “Your father’s intent does seem clear,” Robb agreed. “But I am curious, Ser Willas, as to whether or not you would do the same?”

 _Tread carefully, Robb. You are asking the right question, but do not push him too hard. This man is nothing if not loyal to his_ _family._ Catelyn watched Willas Tyrell closely as he considered his response and spied that same thoughtful look she had noted briefly before.

“I would have my sister achieve the best match she could make for herself and for our House. As I am not in King’s Landing at present, I cannot comment on the particulars of this match with young King Tommen or about anything else that transpires there. I know precisely what you do, Lord Stark--only what is contained in this letter and no more.”

“Well, there is . . .” Maester Luwin began, but Robb held up his hand once more. In an apparent change of subject, her son turned to her. “Here, Mother. I would have you read Father’s letter. It is addressed to me, of course, and written for him by someone else, but it is obviously intended for your eyes as well as mine.”

As Robb handed her the parchment, Catelyn stole a glance at Willas Tyrell. If the man were surprised at Robb’s words regarding Ned’s letter, his face did not betray it.

Unrolling the parchment with hands nearly trembling, Catelyn read,

_Robb Stark, Lord of Winterfell,_

_Eddard Stark, a Brother of the Night’s Watch bids me send you this missive that you might know of his return to Castle Black. He was grievously wounded beyond the Wall in battle with an evil foe not seen in many thousands of years, but he survived and recovers well._

_The danger to the Wall and indeed all of the North from these creatures beyond the Wall is real and the Night’s Watch may find it necessary to call on Winterfell for aid in the defense against them. Stannis Baratheon, Lord of Dragonstone and heir to King Robert Baratheon has answered the call is here with his men, having assisted greatly in repelling a large force of wildlings._

_The man who was your father would have you know he lives and is resolved to his purpose._

_Samwell Tarly_

Catelyn did not know who Samwell Tarly was, and it concerned her that Ned might not have been well enough to pen his own letter, but perhaps this was the only way he was allowed to send a letter at all. She looked up at Robb. “Stannis is at the Wall?”

Willas Tyrell startled at her words, but Robb merely nodded. “Read the rest if you haven’t, Mother.”

Looking back at the parchment, Catelyn recognized the script which had been added to the bottom of Tarly’s letter. She had seen it often enough through the years at Winterfell as Ned looked over the writings his two eldest sons produced at Maester Luwin’s direction, often lamenting Robb’s untidy scrawl which was always unfavorably compared to the bastard boy’s neat lettering, much to Catelyn’s chagrin.

_Robb,_

_Much has happened. Know that I am aware and ready to do my duty. Know that King Stannis has proved a friend to the Watch and I am hopeful in his continued support although the Night’s Watch takes no part in the conflicts within the realm. Your father is well enough and hopeful that all may be as it should for you. He is resolute and has made it clear he will abide by the vows you know he honors above all things. Be well, you who were my brother._

_Jon Snow, Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch_

Catelyn looked up at Robb, tears shining in her eyes. He smiled at her. “So it would appear that Jon has been made Lord Commander. Jeor Mormont must have been killed beyond the Wall or in that wilding attack,” he said.

Catelyn nodded. Of course, the news that Jon Snow was leading the Night’s Watch was of great import and certainly good news for Ned’s situation, but her mind was fixed on other words her husband’s putative bastard had written-- _he will abide by the_ _vows you know he honors above all things._ Those words were for her. Once she would have questioned what vows mattered most to her husband, but after their time at Last Hearth, she was determined to put her doubts aside. Still, she was honest enough with herself to admit that she had worried about Ned’s commitment to leave the Night’s Watch once he was back at Castle Black, and the reassurance he had sent through Jon warmed her heart and gave her strength. _The vows he honors_ _above all things._ Her Ned would return to her.

“Your father’s bastard has been made Lord Commander?” Willas Tyrell asked. Catelyn had almost forgotten he was there. “I would have thought Eddard Stark would have been the more obvious choice.”

 _Of course he would,_ Catelyn thought. _But he would never accept. Not knowing what he intends to do._

“Who knows how such things are decided?” Robb said shortly. “My brother has been a man of the Night’s Watch longer than my father has.” He shrugged. “It matters little. Jon is a good man. He will do a good job."

Willas looked between Robb and Catelyn as if he recognized that there were more to this than they were saying, but he chose to ask about something different. “The letter from the Wall says that Stannis Baratheon is there? What is he doing?”

Robb shrugged again. “The letter is brief and without many details. You are welcome to read it.” He looked at Catelyn. “Give it to him, Mother.” She complied, and Tyrell scanned it briefly.

When he had finished, he looked up. “If Stannis and his men are at the Wall fighting wildlings, I wonder who is defending Dragonstone?”

“Is Dragonstone under attack?” Robb asked.

Tyrell sighed. “Lord Redwyne’s fleet sailed to assault Dragonstone,” he said.

Catelyn and Robb looked at each other. After a moment, Catelyn said softly, “You should tell him, Robb.”

Robb hesitated.

“Tell me what?” Tyrell insisted.

Robb sighed. “Perhaps you should see your new letter first. That’s what Maester Luwin has been so anxious to tell you. Another raven from Kings Landing arrived today along with the one from the Wall.”

Robb nodded to the maester who pulled another rolled parchment from his robes and handed it to Willas Tyrell. “It would appear this bird had better luck traveling than the one who bore your first letter, my lord,” Luwin told him. “That bird arrived exhausted and appeared to have had some difficulties in route. This one may well have reached us more quickly, making its news far more recent.”

Tyrell nodded his thanks and broke the seal on this second letter. Catelyn and the other two men watched him read silently, and if his face had gone pale when he read his first letter, now it went bloodless. With shaking hands, he lowered this letter to his lap and then looked up at Catelyn and Robb. “Lord Tywin Lannister has been murdered,” he said without preamble.

Catelyn’s hand went to her throat and Robb made a sound of disbelief. Tyrell continued. “Murdered. Shot with a crossbow in the privy of his bedchamber. Apparently, the Imp is to blame for this death as well. It appears he escaped from the Black Cells and has now disappeared.”

“That’s impossible,” Robb gasped. “But . . .if this is true, who holds power in King’s Landing now? Your father?”

“Cersei Lannister,” Catelyn said flatly. “Her son is king and her father is no longer there to restrain her.” She turned to Tyrell. “Has she made herself Hand now? Or named some lackey of hers?”

Tyrell looked grim. “Your lady mother is quick to see how things lie,” he told Robb. “She has named herself Regent, actually, making her Queen in fact. My father has been suggested as Hand, but she has refused him. Garlan says her own brother and uncle are both rumored to have turned down the position of Hand, but he does not know who the woman will ask next.”

“How would your brother know these things?” Robb asked.

“Likely from my grandmother,” Willas responded. “She has a certain knack for finding out things she is not meant to know. My father is no doubt furious, but he is swallowing that anger in order to push forward the marriage between Margaery and Tommen.”

“He would have them married now?” Robb exclaimed. “With the boy only eight or nine years old?”

Tyrell shrugged. “Obviously, the marriage, if it takes place, must remain unconsummated for some years yet, but Garlan says Father and Grandmother would still feel better at least having the ceremony done. Neither of them trusts Cersei Lannister.”

“Nor should they,” Catelyn said. “The woman is a viper.”

“There is more,” Willas said gravely. “Garlan writes that Father thinks Lord Tywin’s death has actually unhinged Queen Cersei to a certain extent. She sees everyone as a potential enemy and betrayer.” He swallowed. “She has even intimated that while her brother was the instrument of her father’s demise that he was simply part of a larger conspiracy to bring down all of House Lannister.”

“Tyrion IS a Lannister!” Robb said. “Whatever else the man may do, I cannot see him attempting to eradicate his own house.”

“Well, there are two dead Lannisters in King’s Landing that have caused his sister to see things differently,” Willas said. Catelyn was less interested in Tyrion Lannister’s familial loyalty than in the the rest of what Willas Tyrell had said.

“Conspiracy,” she said. “And who, pray tell, does the Lannister woman believe to be a part of this conspiracy?”

“Possibly my family,” he said without flinching. “And most certainly yours.”

“What?!” Robb exploded. “As per the woman’s command when my father was sent to the Wall, I returned to Winterfell and have not been south of the Neck since!”

“She knows you hate the Lannisters, my lord.”

“Of course, I hate the Lannisters! Everyone in Westeros knows I’ve got good reason to hate them. But I bent my damn knee, and I haven’t acted against them since! Do you see soldiers gathering at Winterfell, Ser Willas? Do you see northmen marching south? What possible hand could I have had in this? I have kept my word.”

“You have,” Willas said quietly. “But she seems to have a new fear. She has been asking my father a great many questions about my visit here to court the Lady Sansa. It would seem she fears that our correspondance has been more about removing her sons from the throne than it has about a simple marriage.”

Catelyn shook her head. “That makes no sense. Your father fought for the dragons when my husband went to war for Robert Baratheon. There is no love between our Houses, no trust--nothing that would induce us to work together toward such an end.” She realized belatedly she had not said ‘former husband’ and had spoken as if she were still a member of House Stark, but no one seemed to notice. “Besides, keeping Cersei’s little bastard on the throne is the way your father hopes to gain a king for a grandson.”

“I did not say it makes sense, only that the Queen Regent believes it to be possible. And so, Garlan writes we are to be summoned.”

Catelyn’s heart dropped. “Summoned,” she repeated dully. “Who is to be summoned?”

“The Lady Sansa and myself,” he said, meeting her eyes. “And you, Lord Robb,” he said, turning toward Robb then. “Garlan says we must prove our loyalty to the Iron Throne in King’s Landing where you are to make a vow of fealty to King Tommen before the court, and then Lady Sansa and I are to wed there immediately. My father will then be sent on military campaign, possibly against Storm’s End, and Garlan and my grandmother will be sent back to Highgarden with all of our men who do not ride out with my father.”

“And what of you and my sister?” Robb asked, with a dangerous growl in his voice so very reminiscent of Ned’s.

“She would have us remain in King’s Landing where your sister would serve as one of her ladies, and I would be given a position on the small council.”

“She would have you both as hostages, you mean!” Robb’s voice became loud again. “Hostages against mine and Lord Mace’s good behavior!”

“No,” Catelyn’s voice was scarcely a whisper. She’d been unable to speak since Willas Tyrell had said her daughter’s name and King’s Landing in the same sentence. “No,” she repeated more firmly. “Sansa will not go to King’s Landing.” She turned toward her son, fighting a rising feeling of panic. “You cannot let her go back there, Robb. I don’t care what Cersei Lannister does. Sansa stays at Winterfell.”

“Of course, Mother,” Robb said, putting his hand on her arm. “My sister has spent enough time as a hostage of the Lannisters. She’ll spend not one more day as such.” He turned toward Tyrell. “What do you intend to do about this summons if it comes?” he asked.

“Oh, it will come,” Willas said with certainty. “Garlan says that my father, in an attempt to push forward my own sister’s wedding to the boy king, has assured the Queen Regent that I would be honored to take a position on her small council, and that he thinks having my wedding at King’s Landing is an excellent idea.”

“Damn the man,” Catelyn muttered under her breath. “Has he no backbone at all?”

Tyrell turned back to her then. “Have a care, Lady Umber,” he said with cold courtesy. “That is my father, the Lord of Highgarden you speak of. He has courage enough, I assure you. He also has a goal, and he is working toward it as he believes is best for our House. I do not fault him in that.” Before Catelyn could reply, he continued. “I do not agree with him on this, however. I have no intention of dragging your daughter to King’s Landing. Nor will I marry on command.” More softly, he said, “I did listen when you told me of Lady Sansa’s time in King’s Landing, my lady. I would not have her there again.”

Catelyn acknowledged his words with a small nod. “And yet . . .” she said.

“And yet, I cannot simply leave my family to suffer for my refusal. I have to move carefully here, my lady, my lord.”

Catelyn found herself devoutly wishing she had counseled Robb to reject Willas Tyrell’s proposal out of hand, preventing the heir to Highgarden from ever coming here. Yet, here he was, and while she was entirely concerned with the danger to her daughter and her entire family, she couldn’t help but feel for the man and the position he now found himself in. She sighed. “Your home is in more danger than you know,” she said wearily. “Tell him, Robb. Tell him of the Ironborn.”

Robb looked at her for a moment and then nodded. Turning back to Tyrell, he said, “Balon Greyjoy has died. I don’t know if you know that or not. But since his death, his brother Euron has made himself not lord, but king, and has sailed from the Iron Islands with the intent of pillaging in the Reach.”

Poor Tyrell looked ill, and Catelyn feared he could not take many more hits. She prayed no more were forthcoming. He began peppering Robb with questions about the reavers, and Robb held up his hand. “Maester Luwin, would you please take Ser Willas to Galbart Glover. He brought us this news and can answer your questions far better than I can,” he said to Willas. “As to this possible summons from King’s Landing, we can speak again later.”

Tyrell nodded and rose to follow Luwin from the room. At the door, he turned back. “Lady Catelyn,” he said, and Catelyn looked up, not recalling having heard him use her given name before. “Remember what I told you in the godswood. I am no man’s puppet, and I will do nothing less than right by her, whether or not she ever becomes my wife.”

Catelyn nodded once more, not able to find words, and Willas Tyrell followed the maester out of the solar.

When they had gone, Robb looked at her. “You trust him?”

She considered her response carefully. “He will not betray his family,” she said. “Although I think I would trust him less if I thought he would. In as far as he is able, he will protect Sansa. The man has honor.”

“But if Cersei Lannister actually threatens his family?”

“I don’t know, Robb. I just don’t know.” She shook her head as if she could somehow shake away all the troubling thoughts inside it and then rubbed her face with her hands. “We must let your father know what has happened,” she said. “We’ll have to phrase things carefully, but he needs to know what has occurred.”

“I think we can be fairly straightforward with Jon as Lord Commander. I believe he was telling us in his letter that he knows what has been going on. Father must have told him about Last Hearth . . .and about Brynden.”

Catelyn nodded. “I believe you are right. But I think it would still be best if the letter comes from you rather than myself. And we should exercise some caution in what we say.” She thought for a moment. “And we cannot say anything about this to Willas Tyrell. Whatever else is true, the Tyrells are solidly aligned with the Lannisters as far as the Iron Throne is concerned. Stannis Baratheon is at the Wall. You know your father believes his claim the rightful one as Robert’s heir. And if Stannis is willing to nullify his conviction and sentence to the Wall . . .”

“Father would declare for him.”

Catelyn nodded again. “And if Winterfell declares for Stannis Baratheon while Willas Tyrell is our guest, we could put the man in a very difficult spot.”

“Gods, Mother, I don’t know what we’re going to do.”

“We needn’t do anything yet, sweetling,” she said, using the endearment she would never utter to him in front of anyone else. “You have not been summoned. And even when you are . . .well, ravens are unreliable. We can delay any response for some time without raising suspicion. Our friend Willas’s brother has given us time to think, time to prepare. So, let’s write this letter for your father, shall we?”

Robb shook his head. “You’re far better at that sort of thing than I am, and I need to go find Galbart myself. I don’t know how forthcoming he’ll be with Tyrell without me there to tell him it’s all right. I mostly just wanted the man out of here so I could speak with you.”

“All right, Robb,” she said, smiling encouragingly at her son. “But do send Maester Luwin back when you’re finished with him. I’ll need him to rewrite whatever I come up with. It will hardly serve to sign your name and write it in my hand.”

“I will, my lady,” he said to her as he rose to take his leave.

“Oh,” she said, as he rose. “Where are your brothers and sisters? If Maester Luwin was dealing with ravens, I take it lessons were cut short this morning.”

He smiled at that. “Well, I stole Maester Luwin , I fear. He’s far better with ravens than anyone else here, and that bugger from the Wall wasn’t letting anyone else near enough to get the letter. I could see the black seal, though, and I didn’t want to wait. Arya and Rickon escaped immediately. He said something about showing her a crossbow. I told Sansa she could go as well if she’d get Hodor to carry Bran wherever he wanted to go.”

“I don’t suppose a day off will hurt them.”

Robb grinned. “It never hurt me.”

With that, he left her alone in the solar.

She had put on a brave face for Robb and even truly found a moment of joy in thinking of her children simply being children, but faced with the task of writing something of all this to Ned, the overwhelming sense of fear returned to Catelyn. She knew that none of her children were in immediate danger, but just the thought of Sansa in King’s Landing in the hands of the Lannisters made her shiver. As she struggled with the quill, which always gave her trouble since the assassin’s dagger had maimed her hands, she became aware that she was crying as she wrote. She wasn’t even sure why. She realized that her breasts had become full and heavy. It was nearly time to feed Brynden, and the thought of her youngest child, hidden away in her chambers like some terrible secret, made her cry harder.

She was sitting there in Ned’s chair, letting the tears fall unchecked when she heard someone enter the solar. Quickly, she wiped at her eyes. “Maester Luwin,” she said, without looking up. “I require your help with this letter.”

“My lady, I am sorry. I was looking for Lord Robb. I’ll just . . .” It wasn’t the maester, and the obvious discomfort she heard in that deep voice at finding her there only added to her sorrow.

“Jon,” she said, looking up quickly. “Don’t go.”

“Catelyn,” he said, his voice and face now registering nothing but concern as he realized she was crying. “What is it, my lady? What has happened?”

He was at her side in an instant, and she stood up to meet him. “I just . .it’s everything, Jon. So much is happening now, and then you and I . . . I’m so sorry I’ve caused you pain and . . .”

“Hush, my lady. You’ve done no wrong to me.”

The tears continued to fall, and she couldn’t meet his eyes.

“Catelyn,” he said softly, reaching out tentatively to touch her arm. “Please tell me what troubles you.”

She didn’t pull away from him, and he put a hand under her chin to raise her eyes to his, just as Ned had done a thousand times. The thought of Ned was like a dagger in her heart. She needed him there so badly. “A letter,” she told him. “Letters actually, from King’s Landing. Both Joffrey the bastard and Tywin Lannister are dead.” Jon’s eyes widened in shock, but he remained silent. “And Cersei Lannister intends to demand that Sansa return to King’s Landing.” Her voice broke as she said that, and Jon put an arm around her, patting her back soothingly.

“That woman can demand all she wants. Your girl is going nowhere near King’s Landing,” he said firmly.

At that she threw herself against his chest and sobbed harder. “Oh, thank you for that,” she said. “I need to hear that. I need Ned, Jon. I need him here to tell me we’ll keep her safe. I miss him so much, and I’ve relied so much on you, and now I’ve been missing you, too! I can‘t do this by myself. I can‘t.”

“You’ve got me, my lady.” He put both arms around her then, and she had only just become aware of the change in the nature of his embrace when he suddenly turned her face upward again, this time to press his lips against hers. “Catelyn,” he breathed as he kissed her.

“No,” she told him, turning her head and pushing against his chest with her hands. “Jon, stop. I don’t want this. Stop it!”

He had continued to hold her, pressing his lips against her cheek and neck when she turned her head, but only for a brief moment. Then he dropped his arms and stepped away from her as if she were made of fire.

“Forgive me, my lady,” he said, his breath and voice sounding ragged.

“I do,” she said. “I do. Please, Jon, I don’t know what to do. I am sorry if I . . .”

“You’ve done nothing to apologize for!” He nearly shouted. “Damn it, Catelyn. It isn’t your fault.” His voice grew softer. “It isn’t your fault, my lady,” he repeated. “But gods help me, I want you. I want you so badly that I can hardly breathe when I look at you.”

“Oh, Jon,” she whispered sadly.

“I know it’s wrong. I know you don’t want me. I’ve tried to stop feeling this way, but I can’t.”

“I want you as my friend, Jon, the friend who’s stood by me through all this terrible time, the friend I depend upon more than anyone. Brynden and I would never have survived without you, and I . . .”

“Don’t,” he said, and the word sounded pained. “Do you know what it does to me to hear you say how much you need me and are grateful to me . . .I can’t stand it, Catelyn. I can’t.”

They stood there looking at each other, a mere three feet apart, but it felt like there was an ocean between them. “Can we not be the way we were, Jon?” she asked sadly. “I miss that.” _I need that,_ she thought. But she would not say it. She wouldn’t lay that guilt upon him.

“No,” he said softly. “I don’t think we can, my lady. And I am sorry for that.”

Without another word, he turned and left the solar. Catelyn sank back into Ned’s chair and stared at the half-finished letter to Ned. Her husband was miles away from her, and the man she’d come to love as her dearest friend was lost to her now in spite of being right here in Winterfell. Her children were being threatened once more by the Lannisters, her daughter’s fate now seemed entangled with a man who was little more than a stranger and a House with no reason to love the Starks, and she and her youngest child continued to live a lie that grew more difficult every day.

She wasn’t certain how long she sat staring at the parchment before a soft knock came at the door of the solar. “My lady?” It was Mina, holding a fretful Brynden in her arms. “I’m sorry, my lady, but he’s hungry, and I know you don’t like anyone else to feed him.”

Catelyn smiled a little and nodded at the girl. “It’s fine, Mina. Just leave him here with me.” She remained seated, but reached her arms out and Mina brought her son to her.

“Are you all right, my lady?” the girl asked hesitantly, looking at her.

Catelyn tried to smile and said, “Yes, Mina. I am all right. Go on, now. I’ll bring Brynden along with me.”

With a quick nod and curtsy, the maidservant left, and Catelyn opened the front of her gown. As her son suckled quietly, she prayed that the gods would light the dark places ahead for any stumble now would be far too costly.


	12. Eddard

All the supplies were packed up, the horses were saddled, and Eddard Stark was impatient to be riding south. The decision to march had been made quickly after the letter from Winterfell arrived, but actually mobilizing all of Stannis Baratheon’s men had taken another three days--three days that stretched out interminably to Ned. He had wished to ride out immediately with a small escort, but Stannis insisted they should arrive at Winterfell together, and given all that Stannis had agreed to do for him, Ned had felt compelled to abide by his wishes.

Ravens had been sent to Last Hearth, Bear Island, Deepwood Motte, and White Harbor bearing the seal of Stannis Baratheon, the First of his Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm. The letters proclaimed that Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell, had received a full pardon from the King as he had committed no crime and been compelled to join the Night’s Watch under false pretenses by the Lannister pretender. He was released from his vows to the Watch, and all titles and lands were restored to him immediately. The letter further stated that Lord Stark would support King Stannis as he marched to remove the current Lannister bastard known as Tommen Baratheon from the Iron Throne.

Ned had dictated which Houses were to receive these initial letters, but they had decided to make no mention of Catelyn or Brynden until they arrived at Winterfell. All of the recipients save Lord Manderly knew the truth of that already, of course, but ravens sometimes went astray, and Ned wanted to be with his wife and son, able to protect them from any repercussions of these proclamations before Stannis publicly confirmed both of them to be legally Starks rather than Umbers. Stannis, being Stannis, preferred to wait until he had seen whatever proof Robb was keeping at Winterfell as well.

“It is not that I disbelieve you, Lord Stark,” the man had said in his emotionless voice. “It is merely that we must have every evidence of propriety in taking such extraordinary actions as these.”

“Of course, your grace,” Ned had said simply, honestly not caring one way or the other. He only wanted to be gone. Given the contents of Catelyn’s letter, he had elected not to send any word of his reinstatement to the northern Houses whose responses he could not be completely certain about. The Lannister woman was threatening his daughter again, and he would not risk any word reaching King’s Landing about him that might increase her peril before he reached Winterfell himself. He would protect his family far better this time. He swore that before the gods.

“Father!” Jon’s voice broke through his reverie. He looked up from the horse whose reins he held in preparation to mount up to see his son approaching him. “King Stannis tells me you depart within the hour.”

“I would depart within the minute, if the man and his people would move any faster,” Ned said sharply.

Jon laughed at him. “They are not of the North, you know.” He looked heavenward. “You and I know these are but flurries, but I fear many of the King’s men look at them and see a blizzard.”

“It will be a blizzard if we stand around here waiting for winter to come,” Ned complained.

Jon looked at him, his grey eyes suddenly very serious. “Winter does come, Father. It will be truly upon us in no time, if it isn’t already. I trust you will not forget the danger beyond the Wall once you have regained Winterfell.”

“Jon,” Ned told him quietly. “No one who has seen those creatures is likely to forget them. You will have Northmen with you when you must fight them. I have already told Stannis that while I will support his campaign to take the Iron Throne, I cannot send all of my men south. His red woman has told him the same. I do not like her red god and her talk of prophecies at all, but she does at least seem to understand gravity of the threat here.”

Jon made a face. “She is to remain here. And Queen Selyse and her daughter are coming from Eastwatch.” He shook his head. “I am ridding myself of the king’s men only to be plagued with his women.”

Ned’s mouth twitched in amusement. “Well, they likely won’t eat as much. I asked Stannis if he wished to remain until Queen Selyse arrived so that he could see her, but he said the chance to march now could not be missed. With the deaths of Tywin and Joffrey and word of the Ironborn sailing for Tyrell land, he senses an opportunity here.” In truth, Ned had been very glad the man didn’t wish to delay their departure in order to await his wife’s arrival, but he had felt compelled to at least ask his preference. He felt vaguely guilty that Stannis Baratheon’s willingness to leave without seeing his wife and daughter made it possible for him to see his own wife and children that much sooner, but he was grateful for it all the same.

“I fear the queen won’t find the accommodations I can offer very regal,” Jon said. “But as Dragonstone has apparently fallen to Paxter Redwyne and the Tyrell forces, I imagine she should simply be glad to have safe shelter.”

“She should be glad. She likely won’t,” Ned said honestly. “Selyse Baratheon is not an easy sort of person, Jon. Mind your courtesy with her. Treat her with respect and keep in mind she is not a fool. She can be as rigid as her husband, and has a tendency to become easily bitter.”

Jon frowned. “Do you know her well then, Father?”

“Not truly well,” Ned said honestly. “But to know Selyse Baratheon a little is to know her quite enough, I’m afraid.” He knew those words were unkind, and he didn’t mean them to be. He simply found himself needing to share with Jon any words he could which might help him in the upcoming days. He didn’t know when he would see this son of his heart again.

“You will remember the things we spoke on?” he asked Jon then.

Jon sighed. “I will not think I must do everything myself. I will not isolate myself entirely from my men. I will learn which men I can trust and I will rely on that trust.” He spoke the words like a schoolboy reciting lessons learned by rote, and Ned’s mouth twitched again.

“You can start with young Samwell. He is one you can trust a great deal, Jon. And I do not believe he is half the craven he believes he is.”

“Oh, he’s craven enough,” Jon laughed. “You haven’t seen him deal with anything involving blood.” More seriously, he continued, “But he is a good man, and I do trust him.” He smiled at Ned then. “Perhaps, I shall follow your example and invite different men to dine with me each evening. Do you remember how you always did that?”

Ned returned the smile. “I do. And I remember watching my father do the same when I was small. The night before I was sent with Jon Arryn to the Eyrie, he had me sit in that place beside him, and I thought I could never feel more honored by anything. I never forgot that, Jon.” He shook his head. “Would that I could have done the same for you before you left for the Wall. But with Bran’s fall, and Robert’s people there, and the girls and I leaving for King’s Landing ourselves . . .” His voice trailed off as he remembered too well the terrible circumstances of those departures from Winterfell.

Jon placed a hand on his arm. “Do not regret anything, Father. Whoever I am, whatever I am, I was always glad my home was Winterfell. I was always glad to be your . . .son.”

“Lord Stark!” Stannis Baratheon’s voice called out through the cold air. Ned looked up to see him mounted at the head of a column of men. “I thought you were anxious to leave Castle Black, my lord.”

“I am indeed, your grace,” he replied. He reached out and squeezed both of Jon’s arms. “I was always glad to call you mine, Jon,” he said softly. Then he turned away, put his foot in the stirrup and swung himself up onto the horse, grimacing slightly at the inevitable twinge of pain in his bad leg as he did so. Looking down at Jon, he said, “Be well, son. Be of good courage and lead your men well.”

Without another word, he gave the horse a quick kick and joined the mounted column, riding out of Castle Black without looking back.

As they rode, he thought of the raven sent to Winterfell. It could not possibly be there yet, but it should arrive long before he did, and then Catelyn would know he was coming to her, that he was free to be her husband again. That thought brought him comfort against the pain of leaving Jon behind him, and unconsciously he urged his horse to go faster. He slowed the pace only when he found himself at the head of the column beside Stannis.

Two banners bearing sigils were carried by riders there. The largest, of course, was the strange flaming heart sigil Stannis had taken for his own. Beside it, however, went the direwolf of Stark. The sight of it cheered Ned almost as much as the thought of Catelyn had. Stannis had wanted no doubts about Ned’s place in the North now that their course had been decided, and had requested the banner be hastily made. It was crudely done, but Ned didn’t mind. The grey beast on its field of white could be mistaken for no one’s sigil but the Starks, even if the form of the direwolf was imperfect.

“You are certain your son will abide by this,” Stannis said, watching him look up at the banner.

Ned turned to look at him. He knew what the man was asking. He’d expressed such concerns before. Sighing, he replied, “I am. I told him I would not take the title back from him, your grace, but he would not hear of that. He says he is well content to wait and become Lord of Winterfell in his time.”

“Had my brother Renly felt the same, things might have been different,” Stannis said darkly, looking forward. Turning back to Ned, he said, “I have found that the closer men get to power or to a title, the less content with the waiting they become.”

“I have found the same, your grace,” Ned acknowledged, “But you will not find it in Robb.” Ned’s heart filled with pride in his firstborn, forced into such an impossible situation and handling it with wisdom and courage far beyond his years. He thought about Robb’s little Frey bride, carrying his first child, and worried about the events to come. Robb would likely insist on riding to battle, either in the south or on the Wall, and Ned hoped that somehow his son could be in Winterfell for the birth of that first child rather than hear of it while far away as he had.

“And he and Lady Catelyn will obey the orders in the letter you sent?”

That irritated Ned somewhat. He had issued no orders to his wife and son. The letter to Winterfell had contained the same information regarding himself as the others had, as well as responses to the disturbing events Catelyn had written about, detailed as clearly as he dared on parchment. He hoped she would understand him as well as he had understood her. “I am certain they understand the situation quite well, your grace. They will do what is needed.”

Stannis made some non-committal sound and turned his attention back toward the snow-covered Kingsroad before them, leaving Ned to think again about the tidings his wife had sent them. _The heir to Highgarden currently visits with us, and his brother has written to inform him that the Queen Regent is most anxious to have the wedding between Lord Willas and my sister, Sansa, take place in King’s Landing. Such was Ser Garlan’s excitement at such a prospect, that he could not wait for the Queen Regent herself to send the invitation, but felt compelled to give his brother such tidings as soon as he had heard. I expect the wedding shall be scheduled when I am to be in King’s Landing to renew my pledge of fealty before King Tommen so that I might hand my sister away._

For all that the letter read as if it came from Robb, those very carefully crafted phrases confirmed in his mind that the letter had been dictated by Catelyn, and he smiled a little even now as he imagined her pacing in his solar, biting her lower lip, and thoughtfully considering each word. The paragraph before that one had carried the news of Lord Tywin’s and King Joffrey’s deaths which she had reported rather straightforwardly, expressing, as Robb of course, the politically expedient amount of shock and grief about them. This business of both Sansa and Robb essentially being summoned to King’s Landing was something else. Obviously, Cersei Lannister held the reins in King’s Landing now, for if Margaery Tyrell were the mentioned queen regent, Garlan Tyrell would not feel compelled to warn his brother of her actions. And his letter to Winterfell was a warning. Catelyn’s meaning was clear enough there. Something about these actions obviously bothered the man, and Ned thought it quite likely that Cersei intended to keep the newly married couple in King’s Landing, hostages in all but name, as a means of securing the loyalty of both the Reach and the North. Catelyn had used the phrase _hand my sister away_ rather than _give my sister away,_ which was more typically used in talk of marriage. Ned understood her perfectly. The Lannister woman wanted his daughter handed over. That was not going to happen.

Catelyn’s next paragraph had actually asked his advice about how to respond to another impending marriage, one between Tommen Baratheon and Margaery Tyrell. Ned thought the idea of anyone marrying a child Tommen’s age was ludicrous, but Mace Tyrell was nothing if not ambitious. He’d likely be shoving his daughter into young Tommen’s bed the moment the boy figured out his cock was good for more than pissing.

_As to this proposed marriage between King Tommen and Margaery Tyrell, I must tread carefully, for as you are aware, it was agreed that Tommen would wed Arya when both are of age. I wish to give no offense to the crown, but I must protect my younger sister’s interests. I confess that I find myself still unprepared for lordship at times, and I seek the counsel of men I can trust. I promise our course will be set by the Lord of Winterfell, however, as that is only right. I know my duty._

Ned was under no illusion that either Catelyn or Robb cared one bit if Tommen Baratheon were married off to Margaery Tyrell, her grandmother, or any other woman who wasn’t Arya. He certainly had no intention of allowing his younger daughter to be sold to a Lannister bastard. Yet, while they all may be quite pleased with the Lannister woman going back on this part of their initial agreement, they couldn’t afford to appear terribly pleased. After all, Tommen was king now. One Stark daughter had already been stripped of her opportunity to be Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. Cersei Lannister now removing that opportunity from Arya, even as she made more demands of the Starks, had to be called out for the insult it was. Objecting too strongly, however, might prompt the wretched woman to simply demand Arya be sent to King’s Landing as well as Sansa and marry the boy immediately. Ned could see Cersei Lannister doing that for no other reason than to spite Mace Tyrell if he badgered her enough about Margaery. _Our course will be set by the Lord of Winterfell._ His wife was plainly asking him how to respond.

He’d thought long and hard about that response and hoped Catelyn would understand him. As much as he wished otherwise, he knew an official raven from King’s Landing concerning the events Garlan Tyrell had written about would arrive at Winterfell before he did, if it hadn’t already. Again, he found himself kicking his horse, wishing to go faster, wishing to be already there.

“Lord Stark!” Stannis called after him. “What are you doing?”

Ned reined in his horse, realizing he had outpaced the lead horses and was now several lengths ahead of the column. He looked at the road ahead, and then turned back to Stannis Baratheon. “The snow on the road is becoming thicker, your grace. The road near Castle Black is traveled enough that it keeps the snow well packed, but as we go further away, I fear we will encounter drifts we must clear for the horses. I know this road well. I thought to ride ahead and see if we are likely to come upon such problems today.”

Stannis stared at him for a moment. “It’s a good thought,” he said finally, “But you are not to ride off alone. Wait a moment.”

So it happened that Ned found himself in charge of riding ahead of the column at various times with a small company of men charged with clearing any impassable snow or other debris. It did keep his mind occupied for the most part during the days of the journey which was a good thing, as he was ever plagued by worries for Jon behind him and for Catelyn, Robb, and all his other children ahead of him.

The first week of their journey went relatively smoothly, but on their ninth day of travel they rode into the first snowstorm that even Ned considered worthy of being called a storm. They moved not at all for the next two days, and then moved so little for three days after that, that Ned thought he might lose his mind with impatience. He spent a great deal of time moving through the ranks and instructing Stannis’s men on keeping all of their skin covered against the cold. Frostbite was a real threat, and he shivered at the realization that the air was now as cold this far south of the Wall as it had been north of it when Ned was there. He feared autumn was fast fading away, and he longed to be at Winterfell all the more.

Nights were the worst. Lying huddled in the dark, he had nothing to keep his mind off his family. Had Selyse Baratheon arrived at Castle Black, and was Jon dealing well enough with her and the Lady Melisandre? Were the wildlings who’d been taken prisoner assimilating as Jon hoped they might? Had there been more wights near the Wall, or worse yet White Walkers? As for Winterfell, did Willas Tyrell still tarry there or had he gone? If he had gone, did Sansa remain safe at home? Surely, Catelyn and Robb would never let her go. Had any more demands been made of them? Did Brynden grow and thrive in his proper home?

Thoughts of Brynden inevitably led to more worries about Cat, now forced to live her lie at Winterfell. The gods knew he was far more familiar with living a lie than he’d ever wished to be, and it was harder to do at home than anywhere else--so much harder with the people who knew you best and cared for you most. What had Arya and Bran said when they’d seen the babe? How had the people in the castle reacted to him? How did they treat Jon Umber?

 _Jon Umber._ Ned couldn’t supress the wave of jealousy and even anger that surged up somewhere deep inside him when he thought of the man now living in Winterfell with Catelyn and calling her his wife. He felt terribly guilty for it. The man had done nothing but give absolutely everything he had to the task of keeping Cat and Brynden safe. No man had ever done so much to protect anything so precious to Ned ever before, and he was grateful to the man. _I am grateful, damn it!_ Yet the thought of his hands on her, even to help her into her seat at dinner or to help her with her cloak or to help her get on or off her horse put a scowl on his face. _The man is in love with my wife, and he has no right to be!_ Images of him holding Brynden or sitting with Cat as she fed the babe caused him physical pain. _They are mine. My son. My wife._

Sometimes such thoughts would agitate him to the point that he’d rise from his furs and walk around the cold, dark camp, trying to clear them from his head. He trusted Catelyn. She had proven her love and faithfulness to him far beyond anything a man should have a right to ask. Yet, he knew precisely how it felt to love her. To want her. Gods, there were times he felt he needed her more than the air he breathed. If Jon Umber felt anything like that for her . . .

He’d walk faster then. The leg kept him from truly running, and his left shoulder still suffered the odd sharp twinge of pain if he moved the arm too quickly, but he’d move as quickly as he could, stalking into the woods like an angry wolf to howl at the moon. He would return to the camp physically exhausted, but the exhaustion also emptied his mind, and at least until the next wakeful night, he found some peace.

Of course, the sleepless nights and physically demanding days took their toll. Every part of his body pained him by the time he finally saw Winterfell rising above the snow in front of them, almost exactly one moon’s turn after leaving the Wall. It was all he could do to keep from galloping ahead to the gates, but Stannis would likely not tolerate that.

The men bearing both sigils rode slightly ahead, banners held high, and Ned rode beside the man he had acknowledged as his king. As they approached the castle, he heard the horn sound, announcing they had been seen, and he saw the gates begin to open. His heart lifted at the sight. Opening the gates while they were still this far away meant the men on the walls had seen the direwolf of Stark, reported it to Robb, and been told to let them in.

 _Robb knows I have come home,_ he thought, and suddenly his pains did not trouble him, and he sat taller upon the horse. He thought that Stannis Baratheon on the mount next to him, must surely be able to hear the pounding of his heart as they drew closer to that open gate.

When they were close enough to see the men on the wall clearly, Ned realized that Robb himself stood atop the gate turret. He smiled at the sight of his son, bareheaded in spite of the cold, the copper hair he’d gotten from his mother reflecting the rays of the cold northern sunlight.

Robb returned the smile, and then called out in a strong voice, “Welcome, Lord Stark! Winterfell is yours!”

Ned was vaguely aware of Stannis Baratheon’s grunt of disapproval beside him. As the monarch to whom Winterfell now gave fealty, Robb probably should have welcomed Stannis with those words, but Ned couldn’t trouble himself about his son’s breach of courtesy. Robb was telling him, and telling their people, in no uncertain terms, that he’d meant what he’d said at Last Hearth. He would never consider himself Lord of Winterfell while his father lived.

As they came almost to the actual gate, Robb disappeared, and Ned imagined he had run to join the family in the courtyard. Stannis could have his proper greeting there. As his horse passed beneath the stone arch and over the bridge to the inner gate, Ned felt he almost couldn’t breathe. Once he passed through that gate, he could see them, all lined up.

Robb stood beside a girl who must be his little Frey wife. Sansa stood at his other side, holding the hand of an auburn haired boy who could only be Rickon. _Gods! He’s so big!_ Arya stood beside Rickon, her hand resting on the back of a wheeled chair in which sat Bran, a fur draped over his lap.

Ned was so overwhelmed by the sight of his children that he didn’t miss her for an instant, but then his eyes scoured the line again. She was not there. _Where is Cat?_

Standing behind Robb’s wife, in the second line of people, he then easily spied Jon Umber who towered over the girl in front of him. Almost as soon as he saw him, the man looked down as if to speak to someone hidden behind Robb. Then Robb moved himself and his wife a bit to the side, and there she was. She had her fur hood pulled up over her head, of course, but her hair was down, and he saw the bright strands spilling out of the cloak over both her shoulders.

Robb reached a hand out to his mother to pull her forward to stand beside him, and as Ned’s eyes met hers, it took every bit of self-control he had not to gallop to her.

But Stannis Baratheon had stopped his horse to dismount, and Ned was forced to do the same. He then forced himself to remain where he was as Stannis strode forward.

“King Stannis,” Robb said clearly as the man approached him. “Welcome to Winterfell. We are honored, your grace.” He then dropped to one knee, and all of the people assembled followed suit.

As he watched his family kneel before the man he had declared would be their king, his mind traveled back to his last time at Winterfell, when he’d tried so hard to make himself believe this place was no longer home, and its people no longer his. He had never succeeded in doing so, of course. He’d only made himself and Catelyn and the children suffer as he attempted to live an even more impossible lie than his claiming of Jon or Cat’s sham marriage. _There will be no more of that lie._

As Stannis bid his family rise, Ned began to walk forward, resisting the urge to run.

 _I am Lord Eddard Stark,_ he thought. _And I am home._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a pretty short chapter for me, but that's so that I can keep to the alternating single POV chapters in this fic. The next chapter will backtrack in time just a bit as we pick up with Catelyn to peek in on events at Winterfell between the time she wrote that letter and Ned's arrival here.
> 
> Thank you for continuing to read. Comments are always appreciated.


	13. Catelyn

The days were definitely getting colder and shorter. Catelyn drew her cloak more tightly around her as she walked from the Great Hall back to the Keep after breaking her fast. She was to meet with Robb and Willas Tyrell in Ned’s solar this morning to discuss the letter which had arrived from King’s Landing bearing the royal seal.

She had known it was coming, of course, but reading those imperious words which could barely be called even courteous and made no pretense of being anything other than commands dictated by the woman now styling herself Queen Regent had made Catelyn’s blood boil. The woman had actually put a time limitation on her demands, explicitly stating she expected to see the party from Winterfell in King’s Landing within two moons.

No response had as yet arrived to the letter she’d Ned, but scarcely enough time had passed for a raven to fly to the Wall and back again, even if the weather remained fair throughout its journey. Tyrell had sent a vaguely worded response to his brother’s letter hinting that Lord Redwyne’s fleet might be needed somewhere other than Dragonstone, but of course King’s Landing was even further from Winterfell than the Wall was so they had no reply from Ser Garlan as of yet. Tyrell had actually given his letter to Robb to read before having Maester Luwin send it, a gesture which caused Robb to look upon him more favorably.

Tyrell was still in the Great Hall, breaking his fast with Sansa. In spite of the tremendous strains of the recent days, the man had managed to persist in his efforts to court her, and Catelyn had found no fault in his treatment of her daughter. He acknowledged her youth, and was careful of her without treating her like a child. And while she was quite certain the man had attempted no liberties with her (Gods help him if he ever did with Arya forever lurking about the two of them), she was very much aware that he was far from unaffected by her. Young as she was, Sansa was breathtakingly beautiful, and the future Lord of Highgarden was quite obviously aware of that.

She hoped that he would linger in the Hall a bit longer to enjoy her daughter’s charming company as she wanted a few moments to speak with Robb alone before he joined them. She hadn’t seen Robb in the Great Hall at all and wondered if her son had eaten anything this morning. When she arrived to the solar, she was not surprised to see him there in Ned’s chair, head bent over some parchment spread out on the desk.

“Robb,” she said, shaking her head slightly at him. “Have you even broken your fast?”

“Mother,” he said looking up, and gesturing for her to join him. “Roslin had something sent to her chambers early. She knew I’d want to come straight here, and she’s as bad as you for making me eat.”

Catelyn smiled, closing the door behind her before she moved to take a chair beside Robb’s. “Good for your lady wife. She is well this morning?”

Robb scowled. “As well as can be expected when she knows I spend most of my time shut up here with you or Lord Jon or Maester Luwin or Tyrell, and that I don’t tell her any of it.”

“Robb . . .” Catelyn started.

“Last night she asked me why Lord Umber’s taken to sleeping in my rooms! Not that she minds my staying with her, she says. But she knows there is something very wrong and that no one will talk about it.” Robb looked at her pointedly.

 _So that’s where Jon has been staying._ “I hope this will all be over very soon, Robb,” she said wearily.

“Mother, forgive me, but . . .what has happened between you and Lord Umber? I know this whole farce is difficult for both of you, but if he’s done anything to hurt or anger you . . .” Robb’s eyes had always been the precise color of hers, but it was his father’s protectiveness and dangerous temper that flickered in those blue depths now.

“He has done nothing, Robb,” she said quickly. “It’s only that you are correct. This has been difficult . . .for both of us. And being at Winterfell, with all eyes on Brynden and my being treated like Lady Stark rather than Lady Umber by so many here has only made it more so.”

Robb nodded. “Roslin sees that, too,” he said grimly. “I found her crying yesterday over something she heard one of the maids say. Apparently, this maid was giving a new girl the rundown of her duties in the kitchen and made some comment about how the Lady of Winterfell prefers certain dishes served certain ways, and when Roslin tried to say that she actually preferred something slightly different, the maid begged her pardon and said it was Lady Stark she was referring to, the Lady Catelyn.”

“Oh, gods, Robb. I am sorry.” Catelyn had not intentionally tried to usurp her gooddaughter’s place since returning to Winterfell, but the household staff did tend to come to her for any number of things, and she sometimes found it easier simply to answer them than to forever refer them to Roslin.

“It doesn’t help that I so obviously include you in all of my business, either,” Robb went on. “I mean, I want you here. I need you here, Mother, but . . .I’m afraid that since you’ve been here, my wife is feeling more and more like an outsider in her own home. I can’t imagine how that must feel.”

“I can,” Catelyn said quietly, remembering her own first days in Winterfell, haunted by Jon Snow’s grey eyes and the whispers of the household staff. “I’ll speak with her, Robb. But first, we need to speak of this.” She indicated the parchment on the desk. “Before young Lord Tyrell arrives.”

Robb smiled up at her. “Young Lord Tyrell is a good bit older than I am, Mother,” he said. “But what do you think, after reading it?”

“I think that Cersei Lannister is as proud and demanding as she ever was. We shall certainly send a response rather than simply packing you and your sister up and sending you south. Surely, she cannot imagine your doing otherwise. Two moons! The woman is insufferable!”

Robb smiled a little more widely at her flare of temper. “Yes, but I had hoped to hear something from Father before we respond. And how do we explain to Tyrell why we delay? You still agree we say nothing to him of Father, don’t you?”

“We cannot speak of your father with him, Robb. As much for his own benefit as for ours. Engaging in verbal sparring with the Lannister woman rather than acquiescing immediately to her demands is simply politics. What we hope for regarding your father and Stannis Baratheon is treason from the Lannisters’ point of view. And the Tyrells are very much Lannister loyalists at this point.”

“Baratheon loyalists, they would say. Loyal to Tommen Baratheon, King Robert’s legitimate heir.”

Catelyn rolled her eyes. “If there is anyone in the Seven Kingdoms who does not harbor at least some doubt as to the veracity of that statement, I call him a fool. And Mace Tyrell is no fool. But it matters little. If Willas Tyrell were made privy to our intentions, he would have no choice but to relay them to his father or be guilty of treason himself. We could not put the man in that position even if we knew him to be sympathetic to our cause.”

“But you would await word from Father before we answer this . . .summons?”

She nodded. “It is only prudent to carefully consider any reply other than, ‘Of course, Your Grace, we shall depart immediately.’ Taking a couple days to craft our response should not seem unreasonable to our friend Willas. Hopefully, some word will arrive from the Wall by then.”

“And if it doesn’t?” Robb’s question was barely voiced when a firm knocking sounded at the door.

“We shall answer that question if it becomes necessary.”

She nodded to her son then, and he called out, “Come in!"

Willas Tyrell opened the door and entered the solar, greeting them courteously. “Lady Umber, Lord Stark.”

“Have a seat,” Robb told him. “It would appear your brother was very well informed.” He slid the parchment in Tyrell’s direction.

The man picked it up as he sat down and spent a few moments reading silently before muttering, “Gods, the woman has gall!”

“That has never been in question,” Catelyn said softly.

“How do you intend to respond, Lord Stark?” Tyrell asked, looking at Robb directly.

Robb met his gaze. “My sister will not set foot in King’s Landing,” he said firmly, and Catelyn saw the challenge in his eyes.

“No, she will not,” Tyrell said just as firmly. He looked at Catelyn. “She is but three and ten. She is too young to wed. Do you not agree, Lady Umber?”

“I have said as much already,” Catelyn replied.

“Well, I intend to say as much to the Queen Regent,” the man said. “Respectfully, of course,” he added with the barest hint of sarcasm.

“That won’t make her happy,” Robb said.

“No,” Tyrell sighed. “It likely won’t. But as I have told your lady mother repeatedly, I do not intend to see harm come to your sister. I have every intention of making her my wife one day if you so agree, and I take my responsibilities as seriously as you do, my lord.”

Robb looked at him a moment and then acknowledged his words with a slight nod.

“We can put her off with a letter once,” Tyrell went on, “But after that, we shall have to decide on some course of action. In all likelihood, my lord, it will serve everyone best if you consent to this match and we formalize our bethrothal.”

Catelyn saw the protest rise to Robb’s lips, but Tyrell raised his hand and continued speaking. “Betrothals can be broken as easily as they are made. I see no way at present for me to avoid returning to King’s Landing and accepting a place on the small council. If I remain there with plans to wed Lady Sansa in a year or so, Queen Cersei may be appeased enough to go through with this wedding between Tommen and my sister and allow Garlan to return home and see to Highgarden.”

“And in a year or so . . .” Robb said.

“A lot can happen in a year, my lord. We all know that well enough.”

Catelyn nodded. “You would make yourself a hostage, my lord,” she said softly.

Willas Tyrell frowned. “That seems to be unavoidable at this point. But I wouldn’t be completely powerless. I would keep some of my own men by me, and I am not completely inept at working with other people. With my father and brothers removed from King’s Landing, I would hesitate to leave Margaery there without any familial connection in any event, even if she is queen in name.” He raised his brows slightly at Catelyn. “You have given me very little reason to trust my sister’s goodmother, my lady.”

“You cannot trust her, Lord Willas. Do not make that mistake.” _Would that Ned had realized that sooner._

Tyrell gave her the slightest of nods. “What of your own summons, Lord Stark? Do you intend to present yourself in King’s Landing?”

“I do not,” Robb said. “I took the bloody oath already. It should be good enough.”

“That won’t make her happy,” Tyrell said with a slight smile, echoing Robb’s words to him from a few moments before.

Robb actually returned the smile. “No,” he said. “Mother and I were just discussing how best to craft a response so that I am not refusing outright immediately. I would not give her reason to claim I offered any offense.”

“It would seem she sees offense in anything that is not precisely as she wishes it to be.”

Catelyn actually laughed at that. Willas Tyrell did appear to understand Cersei Lannister. “Yes,” she said. “But whatever else may be true about the woman, she is a mother who has lost her son. A daughter who has lost her father. Her actions will be colored by grief. If she behaves too erratically, people in King’s Landing may begin to oppose her. What word did your brother use in his letter, my lord? Unhinged?”

Tyrell nodded.

Catelyn sighed. “The woman can demand arrivals in two moons all she likes. She cannot know when her raven arrived here. We shall send two responses--one from you, Robb, and one from you, Lord Willas. We can take some time to craft those responses. A matter of a day or two or even three will not make any difference, and by doing so, we buy ourselves time.”

The two young men looked at her and nodded agreement. “I shall leave you now, my lords, if you please. Young Brynden will soon need fed, and I need to speak with my lord husband.”

They both rose from their seats to bow to her as she left them, and she did not miss the amused look in Robb’s eyes. Of course, he was perfectly aware that she had done nothing but avoid Jon for days, but their earlier conversation about her being treated like Lady Stark here had stuck with her. Willas Tyrell was lame, not blind. And he was certainly not stupid. She and Jon had to start spending some time together in front of the man, whatever the situation was between them.

When she reached her chambers, she found Elin there walking the floor with a rather fussy Brynden in her arms. “My lady!” the maid exclaimed. “I was just about to come in search of you. I’ve put the babe off as long as I could, but I’m afraid he’s reached the point where nothing will soothe him save a teat.”

Catelyn laughed. “I thought he might be hungry, Elin.” She reached for her son, and as she pulled his little body to her, he began to root vigorously against her chest. She laughed again. “Patience, little one. I must sit down first.”

Once she had settled herself in a chair and opened the top of her bodice to allow the child access to a nipple, she sighed deeply. “Elin,” she said. “Could I trouble you to find Lady Stark for me. Lady Roslin, I mean. Robb’s wife,” she clarified as the maid looked puzzled at her use of the term ‘Lady Stark.’

“Of course, my lady.” She looked at Catelyn a moment. “You want me to bring Lady Roslin here?”

The hint of confusion and disbelief in Elin’s voice shamed Catelyn just a bit. It was terribly discourteous that she had not once asked her gooddaughter to her chambers since her arrival at Winterfell. Knowing that she’d had good reason to keep the young woman away from Brynden as much as possible did not make her feel any better about it.

“Yes, Elin.” Remembering Robb’s tale of his wife’s dismay about being dismissed as the Lady of Winterfell by the staff in favor of Catelyn, she added, “It is an invitation, Elin. Not a summons. Be certain to let her know I would very much enjoy her company, but only if she has time.”

The maid nodded, and left the room with a murmured, “Yes, my lady.”

Brynden had taken his fill and dozed on her shoulder by the time the knock came at her door. Catelyn found the small warm weight of him a comfort, and she didn’t wish to put him down. “Come in,” she called softly, hoping not to disturb him.

The door opened to reveal her gooddaughter wearing a simple dress of Stark grey with her brown hair braided back away from her face in a simple but becoming northern style. Her swollen midsection was already visibly larger than it had been the day of Catelyn’s arrival and she rested her hands on it as she stood in the doorway, hesitantly.

“Lady Roslin,” Catelyn said warmly. “I am so glad you could come. Won’t you sit down?”

The girl nodded politely, but her expression was wary as she closed the door behind her and came to take the chair nearest Catelyn’s. “You wished to see me, Lady Umber?” Her voice was soft and respectful but not timid, and Catelyn approved of that.

She smiled at the younger woman. “I fear I have been remiss, my dear, in not spending enough time with you. I am afraid that Brynden’s needs, my own need to spend as much time with my other children after being absent from them for so long, and now this business with Willas Tyrell coming to court Sansa have all kept my mind and my hours quite full. It is no excuse for neglecting my gooddaughter, however, and I hope you will forgive me.”

“There is nothing to forgive, Lady Umber. I am well aware of how busy you have been. I know how much Robb relies on you.” The young woman almost managed to keep the resentment out of that last sentence, but not quite.

“Roslin,” Catelyn said, leaning forward slightly to look directly at her son’s wife, “When my lord husband was arrested, Robb was but fourteen years old, and I was not here. Suddenly, he had to make some very difficult and dangerous decisions, and he made them. He led men twice and three times his age or more south to fight for justice for his father and the North.”

“I know that, my lady,” Roslin said softly when Catelyn paused.

“When I came to him at Moat Cailin, I saw the little boy in him long to fly into my arms, but he did not do that, Roslin. Because he could no longer be a boy, and he knew it. Yet, he knew how young he was. How much he didn’t know. He could accept counsel from his bannermen, but he could never reveal any insecurity to them. Northmen follow strength, my lady. That is one thing you must know about this land which is now your home. Robb will never show his weakness to any of them.”

Roslin remained quiet at this pause, simply waiting for Catelyn to continue.

“He valued my counsel during that campaign because he had grown up listening to me and seeing his father listen when I spoke as well, but mostly he valued it because he could let me see his fears. He could admit to me that he did not know what to do. He could express himself without fear of ridicule or losing face. He has been named Lord of Winterfell now, and he wears the title better than most men of far more years could ever hope to, but he still has much to learn. His father is no longer here to teach him, and so he reaches out to me when he is unsure of himself.” She smiled at the girl who sat regarding her with a very serious expression. “Do you understand, Roslin?”

“I think so, my lady.” Roslin looked down briefly, as if unsure about whether or not to say more, but then she looked back up at Catelyn and said, “I would help him, if he’d let me. I know I haven’t the experience that you do in ruling the North. I don’t mean that. But I would comfort him, and stand by him, and listen to him when he isn’t sure and needs to speak his mind to clear his thoughts. I can do those things, my lady. But I fear he does not believe it of me.”

Catelyn shifted Brynden in her arms so that she could lay him down across her lap and look at his sweet face. “He cares for you, Roslin, and he respects you more than you know. Certainly more than he has likely said in so many words.” She laughed softly. “He looks like me, but my son is a Stark, and Starks are not known for spoken declarations of admiration. If you wait for his words to tell you your worth to him, you will likely wait a long time. His face, at least, is far more expressive than his father’s. If you watch it, you will see what you need to know. He does need you Roslin, and he will continue to need you more and more, even as he needs me less.” She looked down at Brynden as she continued. “I held him like this when he was a babe, and I was his whole world then. With each passing year, his world has expanded, and I have become a smaller part of it.”

“There is no one he respects more than you!” Roslin protested. “Surely, you know that.”

Catelyn looked up at her again. “He will always respect me, and he will always love me. I know that, child. I am not seeking sympathy. I am only trying to help you understand. Robb is a man. I know that, and I endeavor to treat him as a man. Yet, every time I look at him, I also see the babe I held. Just as clearly as I see Brynden now.” She smiled once more. “A man doesn’t always like to be reminded he was once a babe, you know, and at those times a mother’s presence is not welcome. A wife, though . . .a wife looks and sees only the man, and the comfort she gives is most welcome.”

Roslin was silent a long moment before asking, “But how do I comfort a man who does not trust me? How do I help a man who tells me none of his concerns?”

The words struck at Catelyn like a dagger as they could have been her own all those years in the past. “It takes time, Roslin,” she said after a moment. “My husband, Lord Stark I mean, knew me not at all when he wed me, and he kept so much to himself I feared I would live out my life wed to little more than a courteous stranger. It made me both sad and angry at times. Yet, I came gradually to realize that he was that way with everyone save those he knew best. As lord, it fell to him to protect and care for everyone here. He would rather hurt my feelings or anyone else’s than risk harm by speaking when he should have been silent. Robb is the same. He does not mean to hurt you, but he will only let you in a little at a time. Always be there when he comes to you, Roslin. Always listen when he does speak. Give him your counsel in any small thing he asks, and keep his small confidences. The larger confidences will then follow in time.”

“That is how it was with you and your Lord Stark?” Roslin asked her. “He came to trust you and you kept his secrets?”

“I still do,” Catelyn said softly.

Roslin lowered her gaze from Catelyn’s face and carefully regarded the babe on her lap. “I can see that,” she said just as softly. When Catelyn made no response, she sighed. “I am neither blind nor deaf, Lady Catelyn. I can see young Brynden’s face, and I’ve seen Arya’s often enough. I’ve been told how much she looks like her father. I hear the servants talk. My nephews told me how the former Lord Stark came to Winterfell once after he was sent to the Wall.”

“You spend a great deal of time with the Walders?” Catelyn asked, ignoring everything else Roslin had said.

“Truthfully? I spend as little time with them as I can. They’re wretched boys, although I think Big Walder might not be so bad if he weren’t always with Little Walder. But you don’t grow up at the Twins without learning how to watch and listen and learn things. It’s a matter of survival there, my lady.”

“You tell me that, and yet you would blame Robb for not being completely forthcoming with you. Your lord father has never been a well-trusted man, Roslin. He’s entirely too self-serving to be considered trustworthy.”

“I am nothing like my father.”

“I pray that is true. Robb tells me you are nothing like your father, and he knows you far better than I do.”

“I will keep my husband’s secrets, my lady,” Roslin said with conviction. “Does Lord Umber keep yours? Or does keeping Lord Stark’s secrets include keeping them from your current lord husband?”

The girl’s voice had remained soft, but Catelyn noted an unmistakable challenge in her eyes, and the flash of anger she felt at the words was tempered by respect for Roslin’s spirit. This gooddaughter of hers was no mouse. If her loyalties truly did lie entirely with Robb and House Stark, she would make an admirable wife for her son.

Taking a deep breath, Catelyn kept her voice as even as possible as she replied. “When I wed Lord Eddard, I was much like you. Young. A stranger. Uncertain of my place here among these people so different from those I’d known in the south. I am no longer that girl, however. The North is my home. I belong to it, and I will defend it to the best of my ability. Lord Umber knew that of me long before he wed me in the godswood here. There are no secrets between us.”

Roslin looked at her. “I suppose secrets are only kept from outsiders,” she finally said softly. Then she rose from her chair. “I fear I have lingered too long, my lady. I have things I must see to in the kitchens.”

Catelyn nodded, and the girl turned to go. As Roslin reached the door, she called to her. “I do remember what it is to be an outsider here. I am not your adversary, Roslin.”

Roslin turned around. “Nor am I yours, Lady Stark. And I am certainly not my husband’s.”

With that, the girl left the room, and it was only much later that Catelyn realized she had called her Lady Stark.

No ravens arrived over the next two days, but Galbart Glover departed for Deepwood Motte, having delivered his news and contributed all he could to the current situation. Robb instructed him to see to his own lands and to make ready for whatever might happen next. Catelyn discovered late on the day of his departure that most of Jon’s things had disappeared from her chambers and realized he had moved himself into the room Galbart had vacated. That reminder of the terrible state of affairs between the two of them caused her to feel guilty, but she knew this was a better solution than him creeping into her chambers whenever she was out to change his clothes and then practically sneaking into Robb’s empty room to sleep at night.

They sat beside each other at meals and made polite, public conversation, touching only when courtesy dictated that she take his arm. She knew he was aware of all that had transpired for Robb spent a fair amount of time closeted away in the solar with him discussing the military aspects of various scenarios that could come to pass now. Jon was often far too brash in battle, but he was a skilled soldier with a good head for tactics, and Catelyn was glad he was there to advise Robb. Robb had asked her to come to these meetings as well, but she had declined, stating she was hardly a military strategist and would have little to contribute to their discussions. That was true enough, but Robb knew it wasn’t her true reason for staying away.

When he wasn’t with Robb, Jon spent most of his time with Rickon and the young Walders in the Wolfswood. He was continuing the archery education Smalljon had begun with Rickon by teaching the boys to hunt. Catelyn worried that Rickon was too young for such sport, but she knew Jon would never allow harm to come to him so she kept silent. It did keep the Walders away from Bran at any rate, and she knew how little her second son enjoyed their company. Bran spent a good portion of every day with the Reed children. Catelyn still wasn’t sure why the Reeds had come to Winterfell, and they showed no sign of wanting to depart, but she was happy enough for the friendship they provided Bran, even if they did seem to speak very little to anyone else.

Sansa seemed to blossom under the polite attentions of Willas Tyrell. She smiled much more often, and her laughter sounded almost like it had before she’d ever gone to King’s Landing. Sometimes the way her cheeks would color at the man’s approach reminded Catelyn of herself at that age when Brandon Stark made his first visits to Riverrun. Sansa’s smiles made her hope that all of her children could be healed, that Ned could come home to them and all of them could once more find joy in this world.

Arya’s lack of smiles caused her to fear, though. Her younger daughter viewed everyone and everything with suspicion, and Catelyn couldn’t blame her, but it broke her heart. The child had said next to nothing about her time in King’s Landing between her escape from the Red Keep on the day of Ned’s arrest and the day she was found after Ned’s false confession had sealed the agreement to bring her home. Catelyn had gently questioned her when she’d first been returned, but had given up in the face of her daughter’s stony silences. Then just when she’d thought Arya might be ready to open up, Catelyn had found herself with child and driven her daughter further away by her marriage to Jon Umber.

Now, of course, Arya knew the truth of that, but she still kept her mother at arm’s length. Catelyn knew that was at least in part to maintain the illusion they’d constructed, but she worried that her girl still harbored a great deal of anger about a great many things. She did seem drawn to Brynden, at least, and once she’d discovered that Jon no longer spent his evenings in Catelyn’s rooms, she’d begun sneaking in to hold her little brother. She still said very little, though.

The second night after the meeting with Robb and Willas Tyrell about Cersei Lannister’s letter, Arya sat in Catelyn’s chambers rocking her baby brother after he’d been fed.

“What is it we’re all waiting for?” she said suddenly, and Catelyn looked up from the sewing she’d been doing.

“What do you mean, sweetling?”

“We’re all waiting for something. You can feel it everywhere in the castle. But no one tells us anything!”

Catelyn sighed. They had said nothing to the children of the letters from King’s Landing. There seemed no point in worrying them before there was any need. Yet, it appeared the general anxiety of their elders had not gone unnoticed by the younger set. “The thing I await most now is a letter from your father,” she told her daughter honestly.

“I thought Father already wrote that he was safely back at the Wall.”

“He did.” She had told all her children save Rickon that, of course. She wouldn’t have them worry for him. “But I have written him again, telling him of things here and news from Kings Landing, and I await his response.”

The grey eyes glittered with interest. “What news?”

“Nothing of importance to you at the moment, Arya,” Catelyn said in a voice she hoped was firm enough to dissuade further inquiries.

Those eyes darkened as her daughter’s facial features formed a feminine impression of Ned’s scowl, but she said nothing. She only stood up to carry the sleeping Brynden to his cradle. She laid him down and stared at him a moment.

“Everyone knows he’s Father’s,” she said after a brief silence.

“I’ve no doubt that many have their suspicions,” Catelyn said, trying to keep her voice even.

“They don’t suspect. They know. Look at him, Mother! He looks more like Father every day. And I hear it all over the castle. Even Roslin knows. She’s just too polite to say anything. I bet even that stupid Willas Tyrell . . .”

“That’s enough, Arya,” Catelyn said sharply. “Nothing can be done about your brother’s face. People will say what they will. Pay it no mind. Brynden is currently an Umber. As long as your brother, the Lord of Winterfell, holds to that statement, no one here will gainsay him, whatever they whisper in corridors.”

“My brother is not really the Lord of Winterfell,” she said stubbornly.

“Arya . . .”

“I just hate it! I hate it, and I don’t know how you do it! I don’t know if I can keep doing this any longer. I’m tired of everything being a lie!” The words were shouted, and Catelyn knew that anyone in the corridor at that moment would have heard them clearly enough, but she was more concerned by the obvious pain and distress on her daughter’s face.

“Oh my sweetling,” she exclaimed, dropping the sleeping gown she was making for Brynden and opening her arms to Arya. To her surprise, her daughter flung herself at her, laying her head in her lap and allowing her to put her arms around her.

“Why is everything always a lie, Mother?” she said, tears now filling her eyes. “I don’t know if I even know what’s true anymore.”

“Oh, my girl,” Catelyn said, holding her tightly. “My sweet, sweet girl. I love you. Your father loves you. We will all be together again. That is true. Hold on to that, and everything else will pass. I promise you.”

Arya clung to her and cried softly for a few more moments while Catelyn silently prayed that she could keep that promise.

Her daughter stayed in her room that night, and as Catelyn left her sleeping in the bed the following morning, she realized she was rapidly reaching a point where she didn’t much care who said or believed what, and that was dangerous. She needed to focus on the problems at hand, and she made her way to Robb’s solar, knowing that he was likely already there.

She was startled by the sound of angry shouting before she even got near the door to the solar.

“You had no right, Stark! No right! Gods damn you!”

“Would you just listen to me?” That was Robb’s voice, almost pleading, and Catelyn quickened her step.

“Why should I listen? You won’t tell me anything! You’ll spend all day holed up with bloody Tyrell or Galbart Glover or even your mother, but you don’t speak to me at all!” Catelyn recognized the angry voice now, and lifted her skirts to run the last few paces to the solar.

When she opened the door, she saw Robb and Theon Greyjoy standing mere inches apart. “He was my father!” Greyjoy shouted.

“Theon!” Catelyn said sharply, and he turned. His eyes looked equally anguished and angry.

“You knew, too, didn’t you?” he accused her. “You knew my father was dead!”

 _Damn!_ she thought. With all that had occupied her mind since her return to Winterfell, she had given little thought to Theon Greyjoy. Of course, word of Balon’s demise had to eventually reach the castle through the usual manner of gossip passed along by travelers. They should have been better prepared.

“Theon,” she said, trying to sound soothing. “We have not known ourselves for any great length of time, and we wished only to . . .”

“You had no right to keep it from me for even one instant!” he shouted. “I am the Lord of the Iron Islands. I must go to Pyke!” Turning back to Robb, he continued, “Even your bloody father never intended to keep me from my birthright!”

“I’m afraid it isn’t that simple, Theon,” Catelyn sighed.

Theon rounded on her, standing over her and shouting angrily, “It is precisely that simple, and it is not your place to deny me, woman!”

At that, Robb grabbed his arm and spun him around. “You will not speak to my lady mother so ever again, Greyjoy!” His voice was not as loud as Theon’s, but it was low, angry, and sounded twice as dangerous.

The two young men glared at each other, and Catelyn spoke into the silence. “Sit down, both of you, and we’ll tell you all of it, Theon.”

They did both sit, then, but the room still had the atmosphere of a heavily armed camp on the brink of open warfare. Catelyn nodded at her son. Theon would likely listen better to him than to her in this situation, if he would listen to anyone.

“You should be the lord, Theon,” Robb began. “That is what I thought would happen when I first heard the news of Balon’s death. But there is more news.”

Greyjoy stared at him, but did not speak.

“Your uncle has already siezed the Iron Islands for himself.”

“Victarion?” Theon gasped, unbelievingly. “Vicatarion has made himself lord?”

“No,” Robb said, shaking his head. “Euron. The Crow’s Eye has returned, and he’s named himself king rather than lord, I’m afraid.”

“King? King!?” Now, Theon stood again. Seeming unable to remain still, he began pacing back and forth like a trapped animal. “Robb, how could you keep this from me?” he asked after a moment. “I fought by your side. I have always been there for you. How could you keep this from me? How could you do nothing?” His voice had risen in volume as he spoke until he was almost shouting again.

“I had no choice!” Robb shouted then. Catelyn’s heart broke for her son at the anguish she saw on his face. “Theon,” he said more quietly. “Euron’s actions are treason against the crown. I am still sworn to the Iron Throne. If I acknowledge what Euron has done, I am bound to carry out the promise made by my father to Robert Baratheon when he brought you here.”

Theon stared at Robb, and Catelyn saw understanding dawn in his eyes. “You would do that, Robb? You, who called me brother. You would take my head for the Lannisters?”

“No!” Robb shouted. “Gods, no! But they could demand it. And I had to have time! I needed a plan. Theon, there are things you know nothing about. Things that . . .”

“Of course, I know nothing about anything! Because you tell me nothing, Lord Robb! You’d rather share your plans with southron lords who fought against your House than the man you once called brother. I am Lord of the Iron Islands, Robb, whatever my fool of an uncle has done, and I will claim my seat. Whether you are beside me or hiding behind your mother’s skirts!”

With that, Theon strode angrily from the solar, and Robb covered his face with his hands.

“Set someone to watch him, Robb,” Catelyn said softly.

“Where’s he going to go?”

“He cannot be trusted now.”

Robb shook his head. “He’s angry, Mother. He has a right to be. Gods, if Father . . .and if no one told me . . .” He looked up at her. “I only wanted time. I wanted Father to . . .I shouldn’t have waited. I should have told him.”

“When and what you should have told Theon Greyjoy is a moot point now, Robb,” Catelyn said, forcing herself to remain firm in spite of her great desire to comfort her son. “It appears he knows nothing of the sailing of Euron’s fleet, as of yet, at least.”

Robb looked thoughtful. “Perhaps, while the fleet is south, Theon could make a claim to the Iron Islands. They will be less heavily defended now.”

Catelyn frowned. “And do you have the men to commit to such a venture, Robb? With the Lannisters threatening us from the south, and those creatures appearing beyond the Wall?”

He looked at her silently, and she sighed.

“I know you care for Theon. And I acknowledge he has the rightful claim to the Iron Islands. But, Robb, you can only do so much. Right now, your priority must be your own home, family, and people. Whether you wish it or not, right now, you are the Lord of Winterfell, and must act as such.”

He nodded heavily. “I’ll have him watched.”

Before she could say anything else, a knock on the door Theon had slammed behind him drew their attention.

“Come in,” Robb said.

Maester Luwin opened the door, holding a rolled parchment in front of him. “A letter,” he said, uncharacteristically speaking without formally greeting either of them. “From the Wall.”

It was all Catelyn could do to keep from tearing it from his hands, but she remained still and allowed him to hand it to Robb. Her son read for a few moments, and then looked up with a genuine smile. “Father is coming home.”

Days later, those words still sang through Catelyn’s heart like the most beautiful melody she’d ever heard. _Ned is coming_ _home._ The thought would bring a smile to her lips at odd times during the day regardless of what difficulties they faced. And there had been difficulties.

The first had been Theon Greyjoy, who had indeed attempted to leave Winterfell as if riding alone for Pyke could serve any purpose. He was now closely watched and very resentful of it, but it could not be helped. Catelyn knew he spent far too much time muttering to various men at arms about his unfair treatment, and said rather a lot of very uncomplimentary things about Robb and herself, but she told herself it would be of little consequence. The men of Winterfell were famously loyal to her husband and now her son. The angry ironborn boy would not sway any great numbers of them.

Secondly, they’d had to send responses to King’s Landing. With Sansa’s agreement, they had blessed the betrothal to Willas Tyrell. The man had wanted to be present when they spoke to Sansa of the threats Cersei Lannister had made, and Catelyn had reluctantly agreed, knowing that his presence would prevent Robb and herself from speaking freely of what part Ned’s impending return might play in events. Sansa, to her credit, had taken the news calmly, although Catelyn had seen the fear in her daughter’s eyes. She’d seemed genuinely touched by Tyrell standing as firmly against her going to King’s Landing as her mother and brother. She’d accepted his offer of marriage quite graciously, and later, in Catelyn’s chambers asked her mother to tell her all of the plans involving her father.

So, Tyrell had sent a letter to King’s Landing, announcing his betrothal to Lady Sansa of House Stark. He stated that because of the bride’s young age, she would spend at least the next year with her family in Winterfell while he traveled to King’s Landing to take up his position on King Tommen’s council--an honor for which he was most grateful. At such time as he could once again travel to his future seat of Highgarden, Sansa would also travel there in order to become accustomed to the Reach prior to their marriage.

Robb’s letter, while still couched in all proper words of fealty to the Throne, had been a bit more confrontational, objecting to the Lannisters going back on their original agreement at the time of Ned’s false confession, just as Ned had indicated they should do in his own letter. Robb had respectfully reminded the Queen Regent that he had already made his vow of fealty to Joffrey and that vow automatically transferred to Tommen as Joffrey’s heir. He further asked about the rumors of marriage between King Tommen and Margaery Tyrell, indicating that these must be false as Tommen was betrothed to Arya, and he’d received no word of that bethrothal being dissolved.

A feast was hastily arranged to celebrate Sansa’s betrothal, and she had looked lovely and seemed to enjoy herself, although Catelyn found it a rather joyless affair. She had smiled to see her Sansa, who so loved to dance, content to sit beside her betrothed through most of the songs, and she’d thought longingly of any number of feasts when she had preferred to sit by Ned rather than dance with the other men. Robb had danced with his sister, of course, and Jon had as well, smiling down at the girl with such real affection it almost broke Catelyn’s heart. She’d shared two dances with Jon herself. It was only fitting, and they’d grown accustomed to putting on pleasantly blank expressions in public. Yet, having his arms around her for the first time since he’d kissed her in the solar was decidedly uncomfortable, and she had been more than grateful when the songs had ended.

When she’d pled exhaustion, she’d been a little surprised by his offer to walk her back to her chambers, but she’d taken his arm.

“Robb has told me of Lord Stark’s impending arrival, my lady,” he’d said quietly as they walked along.

“Yes, I asked him to.” Speaking with Jon about Ned made Catelyn very uncomfortable, and she’d left it to her son to keep him informed.

Jon hadn’t responded to that. “I told him young Lord Tyrell needs to leave,” he’d said instead.

“Yes, he shouldn’t be here when Ned arrives,” Catelyn had agreed.

“Tonight, however, the man indicated to me that he might tarry at Winterfell another week or more before leaving for King’s Landing.”

“What?” Catelyn had dropped Jon’s arm and turned to face him. “He can’t! I mean, Ned could be here in a week, and we . . .”

Jon had gently laid his hands on her upper arms. “I know that, Catelyn,” he’d said softly. “That is why I am telling you this. You must speak to him, my lady.”

“And tell him what? I’m sorry, my lord, but you must leave immediately lest you risk learning that my husband, my other husband that is, intends to reclaim his seat and go to war against the very monarch whose council you leave here to serve?” She’d put her hands to her face as a not quite hysterical laugh escaped her.

He’d responded with a deep chuckle, and she’d realized how much she’d missed his laughter. “Well, yes,” he’d said. “Although perhaps not quite in those words. Catelyn, the man is no fool. He knows more goes on here than is shared with him. I ask you to speak with him because Robb should be kept out of any conversation that might indicate knowledge of . . .well, treason. Let’s call it what it is.”

She’d swallowed and waited for him to continue.

“But I believe, after what Tyrell has shown himself willing to do for Sansa, he deserves a chance to completely separate himself from all of this should he wish it.”

“So do I,” she’d said quietly.

“And if he is here, when Lord Stark arrives . . .”

“That won’t be possible,” she’d finished.

“It is not my place . . .” he’d started awkwardly.

“No,” she’d said quickly. “It is mine. I will take care of it, Jon.” She’d smiled at him. “And Jon, thank you.”

“It is my pleasure, my lady.”

She’d wanted to tell him she had missed being able to talk with him like this, but he wouldn’t have wanted to hear it, and she’d had no desire to destroy this tiny moment of almost normal interaction between the two of them. She’d simply taken his arm again, and he’d walked her the rest of the way to her chamber where he’d told her good night with only the slightest hint of awkwardness.

The following day, she’d asked Willas Tyrell to walk with her in the godswood. He’d raised a brow as it had gotten quite cold, but he’d agreed to her request. So, bundled warmly, she had found herself on his arm, matching her steps to his slow pace among the tall sentinel trees.

“We are quite alone now, my lady. What did you wish to say?”

She’d laughed. Of course, he’d known a need for privacy could be the only thing compelling her out into the cold. “I believe I shall miss you, Lord Tyrell.”

“Indeed? I am quite certain I shall miss you, Lady Umber, even if conversing with you sometimes painfully reminds me of conversing with my grandmother.”

She’d arched a brow at him.

“Oh gods!” he’d said laughing. “I didn’t mean that your appearance is in any way grandmotherly, my lady, even if Lord Robb will soon make you one. On the contrary, at times, I scarcely believe you to be Lady Sansa’s mother rather than her sister! No, I meant only that your mind moves more quickly than most, and I often find myself wondering if I’ve heard all that I should in your speech. Grandmother does that to me on a regular basis.”

She’d smiled at him. “Your flattery is pretty, if not entirely believable, my lord. But I would have you attend to my speech now. You need to leave Winterfell.”

“I am leaving,” he’d said. “We’ve decided that. I shall take a few days to . . .”

“No,” Catelyn had interrupted. “You don’t have a few days.”

He’d frowned. “Has there been another letter from King’s Landing, Lady Catelyn?”

“No.” After a moment’s hesitation, she’d added, “Not from King’s Landing.”

He’d waited for her to continue, but when she’d said no more, he’d frowned more deeply. “Lady Umber, I am well aware that things go on in this castle to which I am not privy. I would expect no different. I am a stranger here, after all, but if you know something of importance that affects Lady Sansa or myself . . .”

“I know nothing that need affect you.”

“Lady Umber, I would ask that you speak plainly. Whatever affects Lady Sansa affects me now.”

Catelyn had sighed. “Only if you choose so, my lord. I would give you the choice. Leave Winterfell now, and the choice remains to you. Stay too long, and your choices become . . .more limited.”

He’d looked at her carefully. “I’ve heard the talk, my lady. Stable boys and chamber maids do not always exercise discretion. I know that . . .”

“You know nothing!” she’d interrupted him before he could say more. “You may suspect, but you do not know.” She’d looked at him long and hard. “And there is an important difference between the two. For example, I strongly suspect that you want very much to kiss my daughter Sansa, however young she is.”

The man had almost jumped at that. “I suspect it,” she’d repeated. “But I do not actually know it. Therefore, I am not compelled to tell Robb anything about it.” She’d grinned at him then. “Or Arya.”

“My lady, I have not . . .I would not . . .”

She’d laughed then, in spite of the seriousness of the situation. “My lord, I am in no way impugning your honor. Surely, you don’t think I’d allow my daughter to be bound to a man whose honor was suspect after all she has already suffered. No, I merely wish to point out that knowledge can carry a certain responsibility to act, where mere suspicion . . .” She shrugged her shoulders.

“And if I remain in Winterfell, I risk obtaining knowledge I might rather not have?"

“Hmmm,” she’d said rather non-committally, patting his arm.

“We should go back to the castle, my lady. I fear the cold is beginning to affect my leg. And if I am to leave Winterfell on the morrow, I would like to spend a bit more time with the Lady Sansa this afternoon, with your permission, of course.”

Catelyn had smiled genuinely at him then. “You are a very good man, I think, Willas Tyrell. Gods willing, I shall enjoy having you as a goodson.”

He’d smiled back at her. “And you are a remarkable woman, Lady Catelyn. I don’t think Lord Tyrion’s assessment of you did you justice. I would far rather have you as an ally than an opponent.”

“I would rather be your ally,” she’d said softly as they turned to walk out of the godswood, and she’d wondered if that would even be possible once House Stark was again in open rebellion against the current occupant of the Irone Throne.

Willas Tyrell had ridden away from Winterfell the next day, and Catelyn had once again settled into a state of anxious anticipation. _Ned is coming home._ Two days after Tyrell’s departure, she was walking from the Great Hall back to the Great Keep, when Arya came bounding toward her from the direction of the Hunter‘s Gate, shouting.

“Mother! Mother! There’s been an accident in the Wolfswood! Rickon!”

Her heart had stopped, and she’d begun running toward her daugher, heedless of her long skirts and cloak, sliding over the icy ground. Just before she reached Arya, her foot landed upon a particularly slick spot, and twisted painfully before sliding sideways out from under her. She landed in a heap with her right ankle bent oddly back.

Arya screamed, and bent down to her. “Mother! Are you all right? Mother!”

Catelyn couldn’t actually speak. Fear for Rickon and the intense pain in her right ankle and foot choked off her words. She sat there panting when Jon came running up from somewhere behind Arya.

“Catelyn! My lady! What has happened? Are you hurt?” His eyes were wide with fear, and Catelyn panicked.

“Ri . . .Rickon,” she managed to choke out.

He looked confused for a brief instant, and then bent to pick her up. He hoisted her up into his arms as if she weighed as little as a doll. “Rickon is fine, my lady, but you are obviously injured.”

He began striding purposefully toward the Great Keep. “Arya!” he barked out as he walked. “Go and find Maester Luwin. Tell him your lady mother has been hurt. I’m taking her to her chambers.”

Catelyn’s ankle still throbbed painfully, but she cleared her throat. “Rickon,” she said again against Jon’s chest. “An accident. Arya said . .”

“Arya shouldn’t have frightened you,” he said grimly. “Rickon is fine. His horse threw him, but he landed in the snow and was unhurt. The Frey boys laughed themselves silly, but when Rickon found a burr under his saddle blanket and went at them, they stopped laughing pretty quickly.”

Her son was all right, and Catelyn’s mind began to clear in spite of the continued pain. “But Rickon is younger and smaller . . .”

“And fiercer than either of those two lumps by half. I think he broke the taller one’s nose. It’s all sorted out already, Catelyn. Let’s get you taken care of now.”

He carried her through the Great Keep into her room and deposited her on her bed. Then he sat at the foot of the bed and pushed her skirts up enough to see the injured ankle.

“Oh, Catelyn,” he said. “You have twisted it badly, my lady. It already is twice the size it should be. I only hope it is not broken. Here does this hurt?”

As he said it, he pressed near the little bone that juts out on the side of the ankle, and she screamed. She couldn’t help it. Immediately, he laid his other hand higher on her leg and rubbed as if she were a wounded horse in need of gentling. “Shhh. I am sorry, my lady. I won’t cause you any more pain. The maester will be here soon.”

He looked up at her face then, and as their eyes met, Catelyn knew they were both aware that his hand continued to massage her calf. Almost imperceptibly, that hand moved further up behind her knee, and she saw the emotion in his eyes go from fear to something else entirely.

“Jon . . .” she said in little more than a whisper.

His hand stilled, but did not move away from her leg. He stared at her, and she knew that he was remembering the last time he’d seen her lying back on this bed, remembering what she’d been doing as she dreamed of Ned. Her cheeks flamed red, and the tears which stung her eyes no longer had anything to do with the pain in her ankle. “Jon,” she repeated, shaking her head slightly.

He swallowed. “I would that the gods had made you otherwise,” he said hoarsely. “Less beautiful. Less brave. Less . . .” He licked his lip and swallowed again. His grip on her leg tightened for the briefest of moments, and then he let go of her, stood, and backed away from the bed. “I cannot stay here,” he breathed. “I cannot be alone with you like this. I cannot . . .”

“Lady Catelyn!”

Catelyn looked up to see Maester Luwin hurrying in the doorway that she hadn’t realized Jon had left opened.

“Lady Arya tells me you fell, my lady.”

Catelyn then saw Arya behind the maester staring balefully at Jon, and she wondered miserably just what the maester and her daughter had seen or heard.

“It’s her ankle,” Jon said quickly. “I fear she’s badly hurt it. It’s swelling a great deal and hurts to the touch.”

Maester Luwin nodded and seated himself at the foot of the bed where Jon had been a moment ago. Steeling herself against the inevitable pain of the man’s examination, Catelyn looked up at Jon. “Go and see to Rickon and the Walders please, Jon. It will put my mind at ease,” she said, giving him an excuse to flee.

He nodded, and with an almost inaudible “Yes, my lady,” he left the room.

Maester Luwin did not believe she had broken the ankle, but it was badly sprained, and she was not allowed out of bed all the next day. The following day, at Catelyn’s insistence, the maester bound it tightly and allowed her to move about with a crutch but told her she was confined to the Great Keep, and she was not to go up and down stairs without assistance.

She chafed at the restrictions, but in truth, couldn’t actually manage more than that on the damned ankle, and she cursed herself for having fallen in the first place. She stayed mostly to her room with Brynden, and all of her children came to see her, as did Roslin, which surprised yet pleased her.

On the third day, she rose determined to move around better, and called for her maid.

“Oh, my lady, have you heard?” Elin asked excitedly when she came to her.

“Heard what?” Catelyn asked, gingerly putting her tender ankle to the floor, testing how much pressure it could bear.

“Riders, my lady. There’s been riders spotted to the north. And that Gus, you know Gus, he’s the taller boy that works in the stables, he heard folks say as it’s a great host and they carry two different standards.”

Catelyn’s heart leapt into her throat. “What standards?” she said.

“Well, one’s a funny thing, he said. Not that he’s seen it. A fellow riding in early this morning from somewhere up north told him about it and he’d never seen the like. But the other’s a direwolf, my lady! The fellow told him it was plain as anything a direwolf of Stark! What do you think of that?”

Catelyn tried very hard to remember how to breathe. “I think I need to get dressed,” she told the maid.

Robb had already been informed of the large company riding from the north, and by the time Catelyn had dressed and managed to maneuver herself to the Lord’s solar, he knew that the company should arrive at Winterfell sometime after midday. He had called for the castle staff and the men-at-arms to gather in the Great Hall that he might inform them that King Stannis Baratheon and Lord Eddard Stark were shortly expected in Winterfell. They had waited until the last possible moment in order to prevent word spreading beyond Winterfell of Ned’s return until he was actually there.

He asked that Catelyn and Jon stay away from the gathering, and while it upset her, Catelyn understood. The issue of her marriage to Jon Umber was a bit more complicated than the simple acknowledgement of Ned’s lordship. She had no doubt where the loyalties of Winterfell’s people would lie regarding Ned. What they might think of her now, she preferred not to dwell on. She knew many had come to love her as well over the years and only hoped they would realize she had never done anything to betray Ned.

She was sitting in her room holding Brynden when Robb made his announcement. She knew it because in spite of the distance and her closed window, she could hear the great shouting and cheering that sounded out from the Great Hall, and her eyes filled with joyful tears.

When word reached them that the riders had been spotted from Winterfell’s walls, she donned her cloak and looked at her reflection in the glass. The weeks since she had seen him last had not been easy ones, and she hoped that her appearance hadn’t suffered too badly for it. A knock came at her door, and she jumped.

“Come in.”

“I’ve come to escort you to the courtyard, my lady.”

Catelyn looked up at Jon Umber. He’d avoided her almost entirely since carrying her to her bed after her fall. Now, he stood there, looking at her with both sorrow and joy in those deep eyes of his. “Your lord husband has returned, my lady,” he said softly.

“Yes,” she said, smiling at him. “I don’t want to take this damned crutch, Jon. If I can lean on you, I think I’ll do well enough without it.”

“As you wish,” he said, smiling just a little.

She hobbled to him and laid a hand on his arm. “I know you don’t want to hear it, but I truly would not have survived this without you.”

He swallowed. “I am glad to have been of help to you, Catelyn.” He looked intently at her then. “And if he hurts you. If he so much as brings a single tear to your face . . .”

“He won’t,” she said quickly.

Jon nodded tersely, and they began the painstaking journey to the courtyard.

After being cooped up indoors, Catelyn actually enjoyed the blast of cold air that hit her face as she stepped outside, although she did draw her hood more tightly around her. She had left most of her hair loose. She noticed that it fell forward from the hood over both of shoulders, and she smiled. _Ned loves my hair._

She saw the household assembling in the courtyard and gently guided Jon to stand behind Roslin. No specific mention had been made of her situation in Ned’s letter, and she did not wish to create problems with Stannis Baratheon by appearing to assume any status at Winterfell before she could speak with Ned. All of her children stood beside Roslin except for Robb, and she wondered where her firstborn son could be. The gates were already opening, and she felt a shiver run through her body which had nothing to do with the chill in the air. Beside her, Jon felt it, and squeezed her hand reassuringly. Whatever his own feelings today, the man was doing his best to support her, and Catelyn loved him for it.

She heard some shouting from the men atop the wall by the gates, and then her son’s voice rang out clearly, “Welcome, Lord Stark! Winterfell is yours!” She spotted Robb easily now, his copper hair glinting in the winter sun. He looked like her, but he had certainly inherited his father’s relative imperviousness to cold. His words made her heart sing, and she watched him stand there tall and proud for a moment more before he turned and ran at a rather alarming rate of speed down the stairs to join them in the receiving line.

When Robb bounded over to them, he wore a wider smile than Catelyn had seen on his face in some time. He kissed Roslin soundly on the lips, much to the girl’s surprise, and then reached behind her to clasp Catelyn’s hand briefly. “Today, Mother,” he said. “Today begins all we have waited for.”

She couldn’t speak for the lump in her throat, but merely nodded at him. He then took his place, standing beside his wife, and Catelyn found her view mostly blocked by her son’s larger body.

She could see and hear the horses entering the courtyard, and she trembled as they came closer. _Where is Ned? I want to see Ned._

Jon bent to whisper to her. “Someone is looking for you, my lady.”

Robb must have heard him, for he gently moved Roslin aside, and then moved aside himself to create a space. He reached back to take her hand, and pulled her up beside him, careful of her ankle. “You belong beside me as well, Mother,” he said softly.

She wasn’t looking at Robb, however. She wasn’t looking at Stannis Baratheon either, although he was dismounting to come toward them. Her eyes locked onto the grey eyes of the man who still sat astride his horse, stopped by King Stannis’s mount. Those grey eyes looked into hers, and she felt as if she wanted to lose herself in them and never come out again. He didn’t stop looking at her the entire time he climbed down from his own horse, and Catelyn was barely aware of Robb calling out a formal greeting to the king. When Robb knelt beside her, she realized she should do the same, and she was grateful for Jon’s hands at her back, helping her to kneel down without hurting herself. She bowed her head as she knew she must, and felt actual physical pain at having to pull her eyes away from Ned’s.

When Stannis bid them rise once more, both Robb and Jon gripped her arms tightly, virtually lifting her back up without any effort of her own. Again her eyes found Ned’s. He’d been standing back, waiting for the king to greet them, but he now began to walk toward them, and her heart sped up. She was so focused on him, she didn’t realize Stannis had already finished speaking to Robb, had already been introduced to Roslin, and was now turning to her.

“Lady . . .Umber,” he said, in his dry, formal voice. “It is most pleasant to see you once more. And most . . .convenient to find you at Winterfell.”

Catelyn tried to focus on the man. “It is a great honor to see you here as well, Your Grace,” she said.

He greeted Jon behind her, and then turned to make perfunctory acknowledgements of the children. Catelyn spared him no more of her attention, though, for Ned had reached the line and clasped hands tightly with Robb. The sight of the two of them together once more was almost more than she could take and keep her composure.

“Father,” Robb said, his voice full of emotion. “Welcome home. This is Roslin, my lady wife.”

The dark haired girl curtsied respectfully to Ned, and he took her hand. “It is indeed a pleasure, Lady Stark,” he said, and the sound of his voice warmed Catelyn more deeply than any fire could. Then he smiled, one of his rare true smiles, as he looked at Roslin’s swollen middle. “I see you have brought my grandchild to greet me. I am most glad of it, my lady.”

“We are most glad to have you home, Lord Stark.”

 _Lord Stark._ She sounded genuinely glad when she said it. Catelyn wondered how much Robb had told her in the brief time since they’d learned of Ned’s impending arrival. But then, her husband was taking her hand, and she thought of nothing else any more.

“My lady,” he whispered, bringing her gloved hand to his lips. She swore she could feel the heat of his breath right through her leather glove.

“My lord,” she breathed, uncertain if she could form other words.

He looked at her, not letting go of her hand until Stannis Baratheon’s voice called out, “Stark! Your children look to have been growing well. Greet them, my lord, and let us get settled inside.”

Ned turned toward the children then, and both girls flung themselves at him, just as they had done when he’d come from the Wall on that day so long ago, but on this day there was no hesitation, not even any of his usual reserve when he returned their embraces. He then turned to Bran, lifting the boy out of his chair to hold him tightly against him, and Catelyn saw her son fighting to keep the tears from his face as he clung to his father’s neck.

When Ned turned to Rickon, however, the boy shrunk back just a bit, and Catelyn saw the pain in her husband’s face.

“Young Rickon,” he said softly. “You’ve certainly grown into a fine, brave young man.”

Emboldened by the praise, Rickon looked up at him. “Are you really my father?” he asked.

“I am.”

“Are you staying here or are you going away again?”

Ned dropped to his knee in front of the little boy. “Well, son, all men must leave their homes at times, but I never again intend to leave for as long as I have been gone. I intend for Winterfell to be my home once more. To be home for all of us.”

The little boy screwed up his face at that. “For all of us? Even Mother and Lord Jon and me? We live at Last Hearth now.”

Catelyn saw Ned’s jaw tighten, and her heart went out to him. Before she could say anything, Jon spoke up. “Rickon, your lord father is very glad to see you, and will no doubt want to hear all my reprobate son has taught you at Last Hearth, but right now, we should likely do as His Grace suggested and go into the Hall where there is warmth and food.”

Rickon nodded, and bounded through the snow toward the Great Hall, obviously pleased to be excused from a situation that disconcerted him.

“Jon,” Ned said stiffly. “I thank you for what you have done for my family.”

“No thanks are necessary,” Jon said just as stiffly.

Catelyn took a step toward Ned, and he noticed her halting gait. “My lady! Are you injured?”

“I fell,” she said. “It is nothing. I will be well enough soon.”

“She strained her ankle rather badly, I fear,” Jon corrected her. “She is not good about staying off it, either.”

“That doesn’t surprise me,” Ned said with a chuckle, putting his arm around her to support her. Catelyn tingled at his touch. “Come, my lady, and I shall assist you to the Hall.”

Inside the Great Hall, ale and some light fare was being provided to all the new arrivals, and Robb explained that a feast to welcome King Stannis to Winterfell would be held later that night.

“Are you quite certain this feast is for me?” Stannis asked drily, observing the enthusiasm with which Ned was being greeted.

Robb smiled. “I will not deny that having my father returned to his rightful place is the source of tremendous joy here, Your Grace, but we are quite cognizant that we owe this to you. We do indeed seek to honor you.”

That seemed to please Stannis well enough, and Catelyn smiled proudly at her first born. As if he could feel her smile, Robb turned to her. “Mother, I’ve spoken to Roslin. We would both like you and Father to sit in your rightful seats tonight. We will sit . . .”

“A moment, Stark,” Stannis Baratheon said, addressing Robb. “Your father has been proclaimed Lord of Winterfell, that is true. As to the matter of your mother’s status, however . . .”

“My mother is the Lady of Winterfell, wife of Lord Eddard,” Robb said indignantly. “She will be afforded all the respect due her position . . .Your Grace.” Robb only remembered the title belatedly in his anger.

“I have been informed of her particular . . .situation,” Stannis said, looking at Catelyn as if she were a particularly thorny problem to be solved. “And I have told your lord father that once I have seen these documents he assures me that you have, and I have heard the tale from you, from the beginning, we shall see about putting your mother’s double marriage to rights. Mayhaps tomorrow, we can . . .”

“Not tomorrow.” Ned’s deep voice cut into the conversation for the first time. “Today, Your Grace. I have not ridden through all manner of foul weather for nearly a moon’s turn to return home and sit at a feast where my lady must masquerade as another man’s wife. Today, Your Grace.”

To Catelyn’s surprise, Stannis merely gritted his teeth and nodded. “Today, then. If you insist.”

“Very well, then,” Ned said. “I shall take my leave of you all and see you this evening.”

Stannis looked surprised at that. “But you wanted to see the documents that . . .”

“No, I want you to see the documents. And whatever else you need in order to do what is only right. I have my lady’s word, and I need nothing else.”

Catelyn nearly collapsed at his words, the last of her doubts about his wanting her as his wife disappearing as he spoke. He turned to her then. “Come, my lady. I have one son I have not yet seen today, and I believe he is likely to be in your chambers, is he not?”

“He is,” she breathed.

Jon looked slightly uncomfortable, Stannis looked irritated, and Robb looked alarmingly amused, as Ned gave her his arm and allowed her to lean on him as they left the Hall. Both of them were laughing hysterically by the time they reached the Great Keep, neither caring what was being said about them. As soon as they closed the heavy door into the Keep behind them, Ned pushed down her hood and ran his fingers through her hair.

“Gods, I have missed you,” he murmured.

“No more than I have missed you,” she replied.

He kissed her then. Right in the entrance to the Great Keep, and she didn’t stop him. His lips tasted of the ale he’d had in the Great Hall and his tongue against hers caused her to want far more of him against far more of her. “My lord, we shouldn’t . . .” she said breathlessly, pulling back from him just a bit.

“Oh, we most definitely should,” he contradicted her. “Stannis Baratheon and his sense of what’s proper be damned! But likely we should not right here,” he conceded with a lopsided smile.

Again, he offered his arm to help her walk along the corridor. When they reached the stairs leading up to her chamber though, he simply swept her into his arms. Ned was not nearly so large as Jon Umber, and he had his own bad leg to contend with, but she knew better than to suggest he ought not carry her. Being held in his arms against his body was the sweetest form of torture as he carried her up the stairs, and she was almost ashamed at how desperately she wanted him. The most sensitive parts of her burned with desire to have him touching her there.

When he set her down at the top of the stairs, his breathing was ragged, and for a moment, she feared he had overexerted himself by carrying her, but then she saw the fire smoldering in those smoky eyes and realized he was feeling precisely what she was. “Ned,” she gasped.

He nearly tackled her. Before she knew it, she was up against the wall, and his mouth was on her face, her neck, the tops of her breasts where they rose above her bodice. Her cloak was on the floor. How had that happened? She wasn’t aware of anything except him. Her skirts were bunched up, and she had one leg wrapped around him. She could feel his hard cock pressed against her through his breeches, and she gasped. His hands moved over her freely, seeking ways to gain entrance beneath the cloth of her dress. She pressed her hand against the front of his breeches, and he groaned.

“Gods, Cat,” he breathed.

“My chambers,” she gasped. She had to have him now, and she stepped quickly to the side pulling him with her, only to cry out in pain. She’d forgotten the damned ankle and put all her weight on it.

“Cat!” Ned said in alarm, lifting her and clutching her to him.

“My gods, man!” came an angry voice from the staircase. “Have you no control of yourself at all?”

“Jon!” Catelyn gasped as she took in the sight of Jon Umber staring at the two of them, arms still tightly around each other, her hair going every which way, and her skirts still pushed up between them nearly to her waist while Ned held her aloft against the wall since she’d jerked her injured foot off the floor.

“Now that you’ve remembered she’s your wife, I’d think you’d have enough respect not to push her up against the corridor wall like some common whore you’ve known.”

Catelyn could feel the rage pulsing through Ned, icy fury replacing the heat of desire that had surged through him only seconds before. He did not let go of her, obviously still concerned for her ankle, but his voice frightened her when he spoke.

“How dare you speak in such a manner about my lady wife?” The words were growled rather than spoken, and Catelyn knew that having to hold her up was the only thing that kept Ned from already being at Jon’s throat. Desperate to keep them apart, she clung to him tightly.

 _Oh, please gods,_ she prayed. _Help me stop this._


	14. Eddard

Ned glared at the man who stood at the top of the stairs, wanting nothing so much as to put his fist through that expression on his face for it did not belong there. Jon Umber’s eyes and the hard, angry set of his jaw spoke of righteous anger, protectiveness, and possessiveness--all regarding Catelyn and all directed at him. He had no right!

“She is my wife, man!” he shouted, aware of Catelyn holding onto him more tightly, even as she attempted to get her feet back onto the ground. He breathed deeply and forced himself to relax the hold he had on her hips, allowing her to stand, and the hem of her skirts to fall freely to her ankles. “What right have you to say such vile things?”

Umber actually took a step toward him, undeterred by Ned’s words. “A husband’s right,” he said through gritted teeth. “In the eyes of all here.” The words stabbed at Ned like daggers, and Catelyn’s hands still gripping his shoulders were all that prevented him from lunging at the man. “I meant what I said when I swore in your godswood that I would protect her with my life,” Umber continued. “I never thought I’d be protecting her from you. I won’t have you shame her for all to see merely because you cannot control yourself! You’ve done enough to her already!”

At that, Ned could not contain himself. He grabbed Catelyn’s wrists and forcibly removed her hands from him, vaguely registering how she immediately threw her hand up against the wall to maintain her balance and stood awkwardly on one leg. The guilt over that could not deter him, however, and he stepped toward Umber swinging his fist upward as he moved.

The larger man’s attention had been diverted toward Catelyn as she struggled to stand upright, and Ned’s fist met his jaw solidly without any defense, causing Umber to stagger backwards. Catelyn cried out in alarm as the big man teetered at the top of the stairs.

Jon Umber was strong, however, and far more agile than would be expected for a man of his size and he did not fall. Before Ned could gather himself for a second blow, a huge fist made contact with his gut, taking his breath and lifting him from the ground. He found himself in a heap on the floor, gasping for air and looking up at the Lord of Last Hearth who glared down at him with clenched fists and a positively feral look in his eyes.

The anger that surged throught him caused him to fight down the urge to retch, and he pushed himself back up to his feet, breathing heavily. As soon as he was upright, Umber started for him once more, but stopped short when a sharp cry of pain came from beside them.

Catelyn had stepped away from the wall, and her face was set in grim lines of pain as she made her way toward them.

“Cat,” Ned breathed hoarsely, having no voice at all.

Umber stepped toward her to take her arm, but she jerked it away. “Do not touch me,” she said coldly. “You forget yourself, Lord Umber. Do not dare strike your liege lord again. Leave us!”

Her voice was ice, but even in his agitated state, Ned could see that she was on the verge of tears. Jon Umber’s face went almost entirely expressionless as he looked at her. “Forgive me, my lady,” he said finally in stiff and formal tones which could not quite completely mask the anger still simmering beneath. “if I have overstepped my bounds. By your leave, Lady Stark.” He bowed as he said the last, placing a most unpleasant emphasis on her name before turning to descend the stairs without another word.

Catelyn let out a long breath, and Ned saw the tears begin to spill from her eyes. He started to walk the short distance to her, but the nausea he’d suppressed hit him with his first step, and he doubled over, vomiting the ale he’d drunk onto the corridor floor.

“Do I need to find someone to fetch Maester Luwin?” she asked in a quiet voice.

 _As if you could walk anywhere at the moment,_ he thought guiltily. He shook his head.

“Can you at least make it into my chambers? I’m afraid I can’t help support you, my lord.”

 _My lord. Not Ned. She is angry with me._ Wordlessly, he straightened up and walked to her, holding out his arm for her to lean on.

She looked at him carefully for a moment, but then took his arm, and the two of them moved very slowly to the door into her rooms which she opened for the two them to walk through.

“Sit down,” she said flatly. “Before you get sick again.”

She let go of his arm and hobbled over to her dressing table where she picked up a crutch which was propped beside it. Using that to steady her, she limped back to face him where he remained standing. The tears which had briefly appeared in the corridor were gone now, and her face betrayed little emotion. That concerned him as his wife had one of the most expressive faces in all Westeros.

“You were right to say to him what you did, Catelyn,” he said. “He had no right to . . .”

“What the hell is wrong with you?” she nearly shouted at him suddenly. “Can you never keep hold of your temper?”

“My temper?” He shook his head disbelievingly. “The man accosted us for no reason, Catelyn. He said . . .”

“I heard what he said. I was there. Remember?”

“Then you should know that I had to . . .”

“I know that I am not a trophy you must win and then defend!” she flung at him. “I am not a doe to be fought over by two stags in rut. Gods, Ned! Do you even care what watching the two of you did to me?”

The tears appeared in those blue eyes again, and he felt somehow ashamed, although he was not certain of what. “Sit down, Cat,” he said, forcing his voice to be softer. “You mustn’t keep standing on that leg. Sit and I shall do the same.”

He sank down into the chair nearest him to show her he meant what he said, and she sat herself on the edge of her bed, about five paces away from him. “Jon was wrong to say what he did,” she said softly after a moment. “But, Ned, I would not have survived without him, and I would have you acknowledge all that he has done for us rather than attempt to kill him over a discourteous remark.”

“I bloody well know what all he has done,” Ned spat at her. He ran his fingers through his hair. “I do,” he said more softly. “But Catelyn, the way he looks at you . . .” He could feel the anger rising in him again at the memory of the man’s face in the corridor. “He wants you.”

“He loves me,” she said softly, speaking a truth they had both long known but not acknowledged out loud.

“I know. But he has no right to love you, my lady. Whatever kindness he has done for you, whatever service he has given me--it gives him no claim on you.” The words were harsher than he’d intended, and he saw her frown.

“What has right to do with it, Ned? He did not intend to love me. He cared nothing for me save that I was the wife of his liege lord and had need of his help when he put that cloak on me in the godswood. It was you he sought to serve, my lord, more than me. He even had a girl at Last Hearth that he was more than happy to see again once we left Winterfell after the wedding.”

Ned felt indignant on her behalf. “The man took you to wife and immediately took another woman to his bed? And he accuses me of shaming you!”

The look she gave him then would have made him laugh if he were not so angry and unsettled. “So Jon is damned either way, is he? Damned for wanting me or damned for wanting another woman? He is hardly the first wedded man to take other bedmates, and no one at Last Hearth other than poor Smalljon thought anything of it. I certainly didn’t begrudge Jon his comfort. And he seemed honestly fond of the girl. Tiva, her name was.”

“Smalljon objected?” Ned asked her.

She actually laughed. “That is why we told him the truth of things, my lord. I feared he and his father would come to blows over his perceived slight to my honor.” She sighed. “In any event, as time passed, I knew Lord Umber spent less time in Tiva’s company and far more in mine, but I gave it no thought really. I was lonely, Ned. It is so cold in Last Hearth. I missed our children, and I knew not when or if I would see you again. I could speak freely to no one but Jon, and he was a friend to me always. I depended upon him in everything and over the moons I spent there, we became quite close.”

“Close,” he growled. He felt an odd tightness in his chest. “You felt as close to Jon Umber as he did to you?”

Hurt and anger both flashed in those blue eyes then for she heard the accusation in his voice. “I am your wife, Eddard Stark. I would be no other man’s. Jon was my friend. The only one I had for a very long time, and I needed my friend too badly to open my eyes and see that his feelings for me had become something different.”

“I am sorry, Cat,” he said. “I do not blame you. Truly, I do not. Nor do I doubt your fidelity to me. But being away from you all this time, knowing that you were living with him, pretending to be his wife. Knowing how he wanted you. . . .Gods, can you try to imagine how that made me feel?”

“You? I was the one living it, damn you! The man I love and trust above all others was leagues away from me, and I had to push away the man I’d come to trust almost as much because of the pain in his eyes every time he looked at me! I am sorry if your ridiculous jealousy caused you pain, my lord, but you are not the only one who has suffered here.”

“Tell me he never touched you, Cat.” A part of his mind knew he should not demand this from her. He heard what she was saying, and he understood it. The rational part of him understood it. But he had seen the way the man looked at his wife, first in Last Hearth, and even more so just now in the corridor. He had to know that those looks had never been anything more--that Jon Umber had never demanded anything of Catelyn that he had no right to take.

“He is not his grandfather, Ned,” she said coldly.

“I know that!” he shouted. “I do! But I also know how he looks at you. I’ve seen enough men look at women in such a way to know what can happen, Catelyn. I’ve seen it happen to men as honorable as Jon Umber!”

“For years, you allowed me to believe it had happened to you,” she said quietly.

His mind was so filled with thoughts of Jon Umber’s desire for his wife that it took him a moment to understand her words. “This has nothing to do with Jon,” he said. “My Jon, that is.”

“Your Jon,” she repeated. “Your son, but not mine. I was never allowed to question you in this manner when the proof of your infidelity was growing up in my home alongside my children. Yet you feel entitled to question me so because a man looks at me?”

“I never . . .you know that Jon is not my son.”

“I didn’t then.”

He looked at her for a long moment. “Gods, Cat,” he said, shaking his head slowly. “Why are we doing this? I have no wish to hurt you. No wish to fight with you. I’ve thought of nothing all the way here except holding you again.”

“And yet there you sit, my lord, beyond my reach. Apparently, your desire for me is not as strong as your jealousy or your anger. That is rather unflattering, I’m afraid.”

“Cat . . .” He started to rise and go to her then, but she stopped him with a raised hand.

“You have to go and speak with him, Ned,” she said. “Calmly. Without anger. Even if he provokes you. This tension between you cannot be allowed to stand.”

“I don’t want to leave you, my lady. I’ve only just come back to you.”

She closed her eyes, and he could see the lashes were wet. “Whatever passion compelled us here is gone now. You know that to be true.”

She must have seen the stricken look on his face, for she offered him a small, somewhat sad smile. “Oh, it will no doubt return, my lord. I have loved you too long to stop now, and while men often seem to think that that physical desire is some special province of their own, I assure you that I have missed you as much as you have missed me. In every way.” Her cheeks colored very slightly, and it lifted his heart just a bit. “I should think I made that clear before we were interrupted.”

He smiled at her. “Cat, I . . .”

She held out her hands to him, and he did cross the floor to take her hands in his then.

“I don’t want to speak of this anymore, my love,” she told him. “You must speak with Jon. I don’t know if my presence will make that easier or more difficult, but I will accompany you if you like. If you fear you cannot speak to him without becoming angry, then I must come with you, for I will not have you coming to blows again.”

He nodded, looking down at their joined hands rather than at her face. He turned her palms upward and looked the scars on her fingers and palms. She knew what he was doing, and she squeezed his hands. “You and the children are mine, Eddard Stark, just as I am yours. And I will always fight for you. I understand your need to defend all of us. I do. But you needn’t defend me from Jon Umber. He knows well enough I will never belong to anyone but you, regardless of what pain that may cause him. I am hopeful that when he is well away from this, well away from me, that he can heal. And I would have him leave with nothing but good will from us. He has more than earned that, my love.”

He nodded once more, pulling her up to him. She rose easily in spite of her ankle and leaned into him. When he let go of her hands to put his arms around her waist, hers went around his neck. The kiss he pressed to her lips then was nothing like the passionate, hungry kisses they’d shared so recently. It was more an act of contrition, and a supplication for her understanding and her forgiveness. Wordlessly, she gave him both, and he thanked the gods yet again that she loved him. He still wasn’t certain he could speak with the Greatjon calmly. Rightly or wrongly, the man’s feelings for her still infuriated him. But for her sake, he would try.

There was no all-consuming need springing up between them now, but neither wanted to break the kiss. The comfort found in each other’s lips and arms was too sweet. Ned’s mind didn’t even register the hesitant knock at the door until he heard the clearing of a throat and his oldest son’s voice. “Forgive me, my lord. My lady.”

The two of them broke apart, although he kept one arm firmly around Catelyn’s waist, conscious of her injured ankle, and he looked up to see Robb standing red-faced in the doorway. Ned struggled not to laugh out loud when he glanced at his lady wife and found her to be the same color.

“You have need of us, Robb?” he asked.

“I . . .well . . .yes, Father,” the boy finally spit out, and Ned saw that even Catelyn’s mouth was twitching with suppressed amusement now. “I am sorry to intrude,” he said, looking down.

“Robb,” Catelyn said gently. “I have not seen your father in some time, you know. If you knew we were both in my chambers, you might have waited for permission to enter. You’ve seen him kiss me before, sweetling. It could have been worse.”

Robb’s face flushed as deep a scarlet as Ned had ever seen it, and he reflected that his wife could be truly wicked when she chose to be. “What does bring you here so hastily, son?” he asked. He assisted Catelyn to sit on her bed once more and moved back to his chair, thinking that Robb might be more comfortable if the two of them were not in such close physical proximity at the moment.

“Well, we heard there was a disturbance of some sort, and Lord Stannis . . .King Stannis, I mean . . .bid me to . . .make certain you were well.”

Ned was reasonably certain those had not been the man’s words, but he didn’t ask Robb for a more accurate report. He could only imagine what gossip had already spread throughout the Great Keep. There had been no one else in the corridor when he and Jon had fought, but there were always people about, and they certainly hadn’t been quiet. For all he knew, any nosy servant could have been listening outside Catelyn’s door as well. At least bits of their conversation had been loud enough to carry. He frowned, contemplating what to say to his son.

“We are quite well, Robb,” his wife said in a remarkably calm voice. “I fear I have overtaxed my ankle by going out without the crutch. Maester Luwin will be no doubt be very cross with me. I fell on the stairs, and likely would have been terribly injured had Lord Umber not been coming up behind us. He caught me, but I’m afraid my elbow caught him right in the face.”

Ned couldn’t look at Catelyn. She had just invented an explanation for the bruise that Jon Umber would certainly be sporting at tonight’s feast, and he marveled at her ingenuity.

Robb wasn’t buying it, though. Ned could tell. He looked from his mother to his father. To Ned, he said, “There were reports of some shouting, Father. Did anything else happen?”

“Men happened,” Catelyn said in exasperation, and Robb looked back toward her. “You know how angry your father sounds when he’s worried for one of us. He shouted when I fell, and then Lord Umber thought he was shouting at me, and so he shouted and . . .” She shook her head and rolled her eyes expressively. “It was merely two grown men fussing over a silly woman who wasn’t injured at all. It was nothing really, but I suppose they were loud.”

“That is what you would have me tell His Grace, Mother?” Robb asked uncertainly.

“That is what happened,” she said firmly.

Robb looked at Ned, and he nodded.

“All right, then. He’s in my . . .your solar, Father, looking at all the sworn statements we took back before Mother married Lord Umber. Pretended to marry him, I mean.” He shook his head. “He’s very rigid, isn’t he, King Stannis? I’ve no doubt he’ll have some specific manner in which he’ll want us to announce everything tonight, but as long as the truth of everything is known, that’s what’s important, right?”

“That is true,” Ned said. He sighed deeply. “You do understand, Robb, that what we do here today will make both of us traitors, in truth. Having declared for Stannis Baratheon, we will be at war with the king who currently sits the Iron Throne.”

“The bastard boy puppet king, you mean,” Robb replied, his blue eyes meeting Ned’s evenly. “We have both warred against the Iron Throne before, Father. Never without cause. Gods willing, this war will end as successfully as your first did.”

Thinking of his own father, Brandon, Lyanna, and countless others, Ned found it hard to think of Robert’s Rebellion as a success. It had been a victory, certainly, but a costly one, and the peace it had brought the realm had been fleeting. Ned’s own prayer was that this new conflict might be less wasteful of lives and bring a peace more secure and lasting. Whenever he thought of those things north of the Wall, however, he feared that prayer unlikely to be answered.

Looking at the young man before him, so eager to go and fight for what he believed to be just and right, Ned had a far more modest prayer, but one of great importance to him. _Let him live to hold his child, gods. Let him live to see his own son become a man._

“We will do all in our power to secure a victory,” he replied to Robb quietly. “And to secure the safety of the North.” He smiled at his son. “Now, does His Grace expect you back in the solar with a report?”

Robb returned the smile. “He does. He said that I should bring you if you are available.”

“I am not available,” Ned said flatly, thinking that he still needed to go and speak with Jon Umber.

“Oh,” Robb said. “Well, then . . .” He seemed uncomfortable.

“What is it, Robb?” Ned asked him. “I assure you Stannis Baratheon has heard the word ‘no’ from me before. Tell him I am exhausted, that my leg pains me, whatever you like. But I have shared his company all day every day for more days than I care to count now. I will see him at the feast, and if he needs to meet with me before then to discuss anything, I shall be happy to do so later. But not now.”

“Oh, that’s fine. It’s only that . . .well, Bran and the girls . . .they’re all rather anxious to see you, and if they learn you are in Mother’s chambers rather than with King Stannis, they might come here . . .”

Ned laughed at loud at Robb’s awkward attempt to warn them that they might be interrupted again should they pick up where they had left off when he came in. “They are welcome to come in, Robb. I promise you they won’t be scandalized.”

He looked to Catelyn to see if she were blushing or laughing and was stunned to see a distressed look upon her face. “Cat?”

“Brynden,” she said, apparently having thought of their youngest at the mention of the other children. “He is not here.” Her eyes went to a cradle in the little room off to the side. From where he stood, Ned could not actually see into it, but he couldn’t imagine any babe sleeping through the argument the two of them had just had. He walked to the cradle and peered in.

“It’s empty, Cat,” he said, beginning to feel just a hint of worry himself.

Catelyn raised herself from the bed, grabbed her crutch, and hobbled to the doorway faster than Ned would have thought possible.

“Elin!” she called loudly as she opened the door and looked out into the corridor. “Are you up here, Elin?”

Ned came to stand beside her just as a doorway at the opposite end of the corridor opened, and Catelyn’s maid appeared in the corridor holding a babe. Ned felt the knot in his chest release.

“Yes, my lady. Shall I bring Brynden to you?”

“Please,” Catelyn said breathlessly. She was reaching for her son as the maid approached, but Ned realized that she couldn’t walk with the crutch and carry the child so he stepped out and took his son from the maid’s arms.

“My gods,” he whispered as he looked at the child.

“He looks just like you, my lord,” Elin said, smiling.

“Elin!” Catelyn exclaimed, and the maid became visibly distressed.

“Oh, my lady! I am sorry! I didn’t . . .I mean . . .”

“It is all right, Elin,” Ned said, looking up from his son long enough to put a hand on the maid’s arm. “He does look like me, which is not surprising as he is my trueborn son.”

The maid looked hesitantly between Ned and Catelyn as if unsure how she was supposed to respond.

Ned nodded at her. “I suspect you already knew well enough he’s mine, Elin,” he said softly. “Speak no more of it through today, if you would, please. But I promise that all be made known this evening. My lady wife and my son will have their true names once more. Can you keep that secret for a matter of hours?”

The maid beamed at him. “Yes, my lord. Although most folks . . .”

Ned chuckled. “What most folks know or think they know, I can only imagine, Elin. Here.” He reluctantly handed her back the baby. “Would you bring him into my lady wife’s chambers while I help Lady Catelyn back to her bed. She is determined to re-injure her ankle today, I’m afraid.”

The maid carried Brynden into the room, dropping into a hasty curtsy when she saw that Robb was there as well. Robb smiled at her and then took his leave of his parents. Once Catelyn was settled into a chair this time, she reached up for Brynden, and Elin brought him to her.

“Elin,” Catelyn said. “Why did you take Brynden from my room?”

“Oh,” the maid looked down then, and Ned thought she seemed rather embarrassed. “It’s only that . . .Mina saw you, my lady.”

“Mina saw me? Why would that make you take my son?” Catelyn asked.

“Mina saw you and . . .Lord Stark. When you first came into the Great Keep . . .just inside the door.”

Catelyn went crimson, and even Ned felt a bit embarrassed as he recalled the lengthy kiss he had shared with his wife in the entrance of the Great Keep.

“She ran to tell me because she thought perhaps . . .you wouldn’t want me and the babe in your room just now. That’s all.” The girl couldn’t look at either of them, but she continued speaking in a rush. “Then I heard the shouting in the corridor and . . .I wasn’t trying to listen, my lady. I swear it! Mina and I would never say anything . . .but I thought I should just keep the babe with me until you wanted him.”

“Thank you, Elin,” Catelyn whispered.

“You have served my lady wife very well, Elin,” Ned added. “Go and tell Mina that all is well, and whatever secrets you’ve felt compelled to keep will soon be at an end.”

The girl curtsied once more and left them.

Catelyn looked up at him once she’d gone. “Gods be good, Ned. We’ve behaved so recklessly.”

He smiled at her. “I cannot seem to help myself where you are concerned, Cat. I suppose that is why I am so untrusting of Lord Umber around you.”

“It isn’t the same for him,” she said, tears shining in her eyes again.

“No?” he asked.

“No,” she said. “He knows I do not want him. I’ve made it abundantly clear, I assure you. With you, however,” she swallowed. “I can help myself no more than you can, it would seem. The blame falls upon both of us.”

He came to stand beside her and took her face in his hands. “Blame? If the feeling between us is some crime deserving of blame, I would have you know that you are wed to a most unrepentant criminal.”

She laughed at that. “I didn’t mean it like that. I only mean that we’ve come all this way. I would not see all we’ve worked for undone by our own recklessness now.”

“Nothing will separate us now, my love,” he told her. “Not Stannis Baratheon or Jon Umber. Not the Lannisters, the Others, or the dragons of the Targaryen girl.”

“War will,” she said quietly. “You will likely go again before you’ve been here a moon’s turn. You know that to be true, Ned.”

“Aye,” he said, just as softly. “But when I go, it shall be as the Lord of Winterfell and your husband. I shall be proclaiming that from the highest tower of every castle I come to.”

She swallowed. “I’d just as soon you stay off any high towers or anywhere else you’d make too good a target, my love.”

“I will endeavor to take very good care of myself, Cat. I promise you that.” He bent to kiss her forehead. Brynden was becoming quite restless in her arms, and she opened the front of her gown for him. Ned laughed to see that she no longer had to guide him onto the teat as he launched himself at it greedily. “I cannot believe how much he has grown,” he said. “He looks even more like . . .” he broke off, cursing himself silently.

“You can say it,” she said. “I hear it regularly from the children when no one else is around. He looks even more like Jon Snow. It’s true enough.”

She didn’t sound angry, merely resigned, and Ned recalled what she’d said earlier about his adamant refusals to ever let her question him about Jon’s origins. Even now, a tiny part of him longed to ask her if Jon Umber had ever so much as kissed her lips briefly or let his hand linger on her longer than it should. He knew his wife was faithful to him. He knew it! And yet the thought that someone might have attempted even the smallest liberties with her drove him nearly to madness.

He didn’t know what love felt like for a woman, but he did know that Catelyn loved him beyond reason. For years, he had to all appearances flaunted the evidence that he’d actually lain with another woman and known that woman’s body as he knew Cat’s directly in her face every single day. Yet, he’d told her she had no right to question him about it ever. More than ever before, he realized he’d have likely lost his mind if she’d put him in the same position.

“His chin is more like yours and Arya’s, though,” she said then. “Jon’s is different. I think no one realizes because you’ve always worn a beard.” She reached up, and cupped his chin in her hand. “But I know the shape of your chin well enough. In many ways, Arya has more of your features than Jon does, truly, but they look different on a girl. I truly suspect that Brynden will end up looking even more like you than Jon or Arya, either one.”

Again, there was no discernible bitterness in her voice, but it broke his heart just a little to realize that she had likely spent years looking for every tiny way that Jon was not like him as she fretted about the Tully looks of the great majority of their children. He could never undo the pain of those years, but he silently vowed to do his best not to cause her any more pain.

“I do want you with me when I speak with Lord Umber, Cat,” he said suddenly.

She had been gazing at his son, but she looked up at him at that. “Why?” she asked. “Are you afraid he’ll say something that makes you want to hit him again?”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “I can keep a civil tongue in my head if I apply myself to it. I do not wish you to feel that you are being discussed behind your back. Nor do I want you to worry that I am pressing him for answers to questions that I fear to ask you. Neither of us showed you proper respect today, my love. I would like us both to do better by you.”

She regarded him carefully, as if surprised by his words. “All right,” she said finally. “I need to finish feeding Brynden first.”

“We have ample time to speak with Umber, Cat. If our children wish to see me, I would rather have them come here first. If that’s all right with you, my lady.”

She smiled then. “I would love to have the children here with both of us,” she said. “Will you go and find them?”

He nodded. She called after him as he walked toward the door, though.

“Ned? Are you certain your belly is all right? That was a vicious blow.”

In truth, the entire left side of his gut felt like it was being stabbed by daggers every time he took a step, and he had no doubt that the skin had already gone a violent purple, but he did have some pride. “It stings a bit,” he said. “But it wasn’t that bad. Took the wind out of me, but I’ve had worse.”

She smiled at him, and he knew that she saw through the lie. She wouldn’t call him on it, though. She simply nodded and told him she’d be waiting for him and the children.

As it happened, he found Arya on his way down the stairs as she was running up them. “Well, you look all right,” she said.

“Why shouldn’t I look all right?”

She narrowed her grey eyes at him, those eyes so like his own. “You and the Greatjon had a fight. Everyone’s talking about it. And he’s so huge. And you’re sort of . . .well, you’ve been injured so much already and . . .”

Ned wasn’t certain whether he was more irritated by the news that ‘everyone’ was talking about a fight between him and Umber, or by the fact that his daughter appeared to believe he could not handle himself in a fight if one occurred.

“Arya,” he said rather more severly than he’d intended, “I assure you that I could defend myself quite well against anyone should it be necessary. However, whatever someone may think they have seen, I have not been in a fight with Lord Umber.”

He told the blatant lie quickly and without embellishment, hoping that might make it somehow more believable. He needed Arya not to ask anything further as he had no skill for deception. He thought enviously of the quick prevarications Catelyn had come up with earlier for Robb. His wife was one of the most honest people he knew, but in defense of her family, she could say or do anything necessary. He knew that well enough. He wished he were as capable of it. Recent circumstances had forced him to skirt around the truth more often than he ever had, but he always felt as if everyone must plainly know he was lying.

“Really,” Arya said, looking at him in frank disbelief.

Ned sighed. “Really, Arya. Your mother and I would be happy to tell you the entire story, but we’d like to have all of you children come up to her chambers with us. I’ve barely gotten to see you yet.”

“You’re in Mother’s chambers?” she asked, suddenly grinning.

“Well, at the moment I’m on a staircase talking with you,” he said teasingly. “But I was in your Mother’s chambers, and that is where I intend to return once I’ve rounded up your brothers and sister.”

“And Mother is there?” she asked.

“Of course. They are her rooms, after all.”

“And not Lord Umber?”

“No. Arya, are you going to keep me here answering questions, or would you like to help me find Sansa and the boys?”

“The boys are still in the Great Hall,” she said. “King Stannis’s men have never seen direwolves and Rickon’s showing off with Shaggy. Bran’s just keeping Summer there to make sure Shaggy doesn’t get too wild.”

“Where is your wolf, child?” Ned asked, realizing it wasn’t with her.

“In the godswood. Nymeria doesn’t like to hang around a bunch of stupid men.”

Ned nodded absently. “Is your sister in the Keep, then?”

Arya shrugged. “I suppose so. She left the Hall anyway.”

“Well, how about you go and find her, and I’ll bring the boys. I can carry Bran.”

She nodded. “If you’re going to Mother’s room, you might want to get Hodor. Bran’s chair can’t go there, so he’ll have to be carried the whole way.”

“I am not an invalid, Arya,” he replied testily. Not only did his daughter fear him likely to suffer grievous injury at the hands of Jon Umber, she doubted his ability to carry his son about Winterfell.

So it was that when Ned found the boys in the Great Hall, he dismissed Hodor, telling him he preferred to carry Bran himself. He realized he’d been foolish in that as soon as he hoisted the boy up, and the pain in the left of his abdomen nearly caused him to drop him. There was no help for it then, however, and he started across the courtyard, walking rather more stiffly than normal, carrying Bran with Rickon trailing behind.

“Why do we have to leave the Great Hall?” Rickon protested. “Shaggy was having fun.”

“Because I want to see you and your brother and sisters, Rickon. I have been gone too long and I have missed you.” It was hard to speak with the stabbing pain in his belly at every step, but Ned was determined not to appear weak.

“Will Mother and Lord Jon be there, too?”

“Your mother is there. Lord Umber is elsewhere.”

“Why?”

“Rickon, stop asking Father so many questions,” Bran put in quickly.

“Why can’t Shaggy and Summer come?”

“We’ll have seven people in your mother’s rooms counting little Brynden,” Ned replied. “Two direwolves might make things a bit crowded. In any event, I’m certain they’ll enjoy running in the godswood with Arya’s wolf more than being cooped up in the Great Keep.”

Rickon appeared to think for a moment as they reached the door of the Great Keep, which he ran to open for Ned. It occurred to Ned that he was likely accustomed to opening doors for whoever carried his brother. “Well,” he said. “At least Shaggy’s allowed in the Great Hall here. He isn’t allowed in the dining hall at Last Hearth except when Robb and Grey Wind visit because he scares the stupid dogs.”

Ned knew it was childish to be pleased that his little son had actually said something negative about Lord Umber’s castle, but he was pleased anyway, and he used that satisfaction to give him strength as he gritted his teeth and hauled Bran up the stairs to Catelyn’s chambers.

When Rickon opened the door for them, (without knocking first, Ned noted), he saw his daughters already seated in the room with Catelyn.

“Hodor wasn’t there?” Arya said, looking surprised as Ned carried Bran in and carefully seated him in a chair.

“Father sent him away,” said Rickon, and Ned caught the disapproving look Catelyn sent his way. “He said he wanted to carry Bran himself.”

No wonder Catelyn had kept everything from this child. He told everything he knew. To his wife’s credit, she did not scold him in front of the children, but he was under no illusion that he wouldn’t hear from her on the subject of carrying Bran later.

Cat was semi-reclined on her bed now with Brynden apparently asleep on her shoulder, her legs stretched out and her injured ankle wrapped in a blanket full of snow. Arya had pulled the stool from the dressing table over beside her mother’s bed, and Sansa and now Bran occupied the two chairs. Rickon jumped up onto the bed beside his mother, and Ned smiled to see all of them here together in spite of the slight wince he saw cross Cat’s face as Rickon bumped her leg.

As he looked at all of them, his family, he found himself suddenly unable to speak. He wished that Robb were here as well, along with his pretty little wife and the child she carried. He couldn’t think about wars or secrets or placating kings right now. He wanted nothing but to be right here forever with his family around him.

“Come sit with me, Ned,” Catelyn said softly, scooting Rickon a bit so that she could make room for Ned on her other side. She squeezed his hand as he sat down, and Ned saw Bran and both girls smile when she did so. Sansa’s eyes even filled with tears, and when he turned to look at his wife, he saw that hers had as well, but these were much happier tears than he’d caused her earlier.

He smiled at her. “So did Maester Luwin come to see you, my lady?” he asked, indicating her ankle.

She laughed. “That would be Sansa,” she said. “She is Maester Luwin’s chief assistant as far as my ankle is concerned. She certainly scolds me about it more often than he does. She took one look at it and insisted on getting me into bed and sending Arya out for snow.”

“She’s as bossy as she always was,” Arya said, but Ned detected no real animosity toward her sister.

“It was more swollen than it was all of yesterday!” Sansa exclaimed. “I don’t know what she was thinking coming all the way outside without her crutch.”

“We’ve been through this already, Sansa,” Catelyn said firmly. “Your father would likely prefer to discuss something else.”

“Are you going to tell everyone about Mother and Brynden at the feast tonight, Father?” Bran asked, speaking for the first time since they’d all settled in.

“Likely, King Stannis will make the proclamation, as it is his decree that freed me from the Night’s Watch,” Ned answered him. “His decree will also grant your mother an annulment on the grounds that no valid marriage took place, and confirm that as my conviction was false, she has always been married, and that Brynden is legitimate.”

“What’s leg-uh-mutt?” Rickon asked.

“Trueborn,” Catelyn said softly, ruffling his hair.

Rickon frowned as if that answer didn’t explain much, but before he could ask another question, Sansa voiced a concern. “But doesn’t the High Septon have to approve annulments?” she asked.

“I did not wed Lord Umber in the Faith of the Seven, Sansa, so the High Septon has no jurisdiction,” Catelyn told her.

“You wed Lord Jon in the godswood,” Rickon proclaimed, happy to have understood something in the conversation. “It was boring and Shaggy couldn’t come which isn’t fair because he’s always allowed in the godswood.”

“Very little was fair about that wedding,” Ned muttered under his breath. To Sansa, he said, “There are no septons or priests in the worship of our old gods--no religious hierarchy at all--so it is for the highest civil authority to declare a marriage valid or not, and King Stannis has already heard the truth of all that occurred here and given his word he would put things right.”

“King Stannis may recognize your marriage, Father, but King Tommen won’t,” Bran said.

“As I do not recognize the bastard Tommen’s kingship, I cannot be concerned about whether or not he recognizes my marriage,” Ned said firmly. “We are in the right here, my children, and as long as we are in the right, we can stand proudly and with honor.”

“You must go to war with the Lannisters now, mustn’t you, Father?” Sansa asked softly.

Ned sighed heavily. “Unless Cersei Lannister voluntarily gives Stannis her little bastard’s throne, there is no other option. I do not wish for war, but things cannot stand as they are.”

All of the children were silent then, even Rickon. Ned supposed he remembered enough of the last war to recall how long his mother, brother and sisters had been away. Of course he seemed to have forgotten Ned entirely.

“Will the Tyrells fight for the Lannisters?” Sansa asked even more softly, and Ned recalled that Willas Tyrell had been there to court her. No one had spoken of the man to Ned since his arrival, and he certainly did not appear to be here now. It suddenly occurred to Ned that there were many things he needed to know rather quickly, but he had been too overwhelmed simply by being home, by accepting that this was his home once more, that these were his wife and children once more, to attend to them. He vowed to begin early on the morrow to learn everything he needed.

“If the Tyrell daughter does wed little Tommen, that would seem to be almost a certainty, Sansa,” he said.

She looked distressed. “And when we’ve defeated them,” she said ,swallowing hard, will King Stannis show mercy to the Houses who fought for the Lannisters, Father?”

He smiled just a little at the way she said when rather than if, but he could not miss the sadness in her voice. “I would hope so, Sansa, if they are willing to bend the knee. King Robert accepted the surrender of the royalist Houses and did not strip the titles or lands of men who swore fealty to him.”

“House Tyrell faces a potential conflict of interests, my love,” Catelyn said softly beside him. “With Sansa’s agreement, Robb gave his consent to the betrothal between Lord Willas and Sansa. He left for King’s Landing shortly before you arrived. He goes to accept a position on Tommen’s council so that his brother, Ser Garlan will be allowed to return home to Highgarden and see to their lands. It would appear Lord Mace is to be sent off to fight.”

Ned wondered what she wasn’t saying in front of the children. It sounded as if the Tyrell heir was basically offering himself up as a hostage. “And what of Sansa? Did not Cersei demand that she come and wed Tyrell at once in King’s Landing?”

“Willas won’t let her make me go!” Sansa exclaimed. Ned noticed the absence of any honorific and the passion in her voice as she made her declaration. “He says I will never set foot in King’s Landing again if I don’t want to. And I don’t want to!”

As he stared at his daughter, his wife spoke again. “I know not what House Tyrell will do, Ned, but Willas Tyrell is a good man. I do not think he would ever act explicitly against his family, but he does seem to genuinely care about Sansa’s welfare. He wrote Cersei stating that his betrothed was far too young to be wed immediately, and that he intended for her to stay at Winterfell for at least a year, and after that possibly travel to Highgarden to get to know her future home and family. King’s Landing is not an option.”

Ned felt a grudging respect for this Willas. He had no love at all for House Tyrell. Mace Tyrell was a scheming man, always seeking to elevate his house by attaching himself to whomever seemed most advantageous to him at the time. And Ned would never forget the feast tables Lord Mace and Paxter Redwine had laid before Storm’s End as they laid siege to the castle any more than he would forget the skeletal condition of the people he’d found within that castle. No, he had nothing but contempt for Mace Tyrell. But mayhaps his son was a better man.

Sighing, as he looked at his daughter, he realized it likely didn’t matter. Once it became known in King’s Landing that he had declared for Stannis Baratheon and was once again the Lord of Winterfell, Tyrell would have to break off this betrothal.

As if she could read his thoughts, Sansa said, “Likely the betrothal will be broken during the war. But afterward, if King Stannis is merciful, mayhaps a marriage could strengthen the loyalty of House Tyrell to our side.”

He smiled at her. It was a politically astute thought, but she seemed genuinely interested in wedding this man. “Do you want this marriage, Sansa?” he asked her.

“Of course she does!” Arya exploded. “She wants a pretty wedding to a pretty lord and a pretty castle full of flowers to call her own. He talks to her about flowers and horses and puppies and warm sunshine and she falls in love. It’s Joffrey all over again!!”

“I am not in love with anyone, and he is nothing like Joffrey!” Sansa hissed at her sister. “And if you’d stop hating everybody for even one minute, you would see that!”

“I don’t hate everybody, stupid. I tried to tell you about Joffrey, and you wouldn’t . . .”

“You were right about Joffrey!” Sansa screamed. “You were right! Is that what you want to hear? He was a monster! He was cruel to me, and he had me beaten and kept saying he should have killed Father and he would kill Robb and he would give me to the mobs in the streets to use as they wanted! He was horrible, Arya, and I will never, never allow anyone like that near me again!”

Sansa was literally shaking, and Ned realized he was shaking himself at the horror of his daughter’s words. He knew her time in King’s Landing had been terrible, but he hadn’t realized how bad. Guilt and rage washed over him in equal parts, and he wanted to ride immediately to King’s Landing and kill every Lannister who remained alive.

After an undetermined amount of time, he realized that Arya had taken Brynden from Cat, and that Sansa was now on the bed, encircled in her mother’s arms. Bran sat silent and pale in his chair, and Rickon was crying quietly.

“Ned . . . .Ned . . .” Catelyn was speaking his name. Slowly, he turned to look at her, and she reached out a hand to touch his face and then took his hand. “She is safe, my love. Sansa is here with us, and you will allow no harm to come to her.”

He nodded slowly, breathing in and out. He looked at his daughter, whose face was tearstained, but who looked calm now, lying against her mother, with the softly crying Rickon curled up against her other side. His brave little girl, who’d suffered so much and yet calmly spoke now of the political advantages of yet another marriage.

“Do you want this marriage, Sansa?” he asked again.

“Honestly, Father? I don’t really want any marriage right now. I want to stay at Winterfell with you and Mother forever. But I know I can’t do that, and I would like to have my own babies some day.” She swallowed. “I like Willas. He likes me. He’s kind, and he’s already trying to protect me. He talks to me, and he listens when I talk. He thought Winterfell was wonderful, and he wanted to see all of it even though I know it made his leg hurt. Highgarden sounds beautiful. I hate that it’s so far away, but he promised I wouldn’t have to go there even after a year if I’m not ready. And I would like to live somewhere beautiful.” She swallowed. “He thinks I’m interesting, and he thinks Mother’s brilliant.”

A sharp, short laugh actually escaped Ned then. “Well he’s not a fool, then at least,” he said. “And he certainly sounds nothing like Joffrey Baratheon.” He sighed. “I cannot say what may happen in the next several moons or even years, Sansa. But when all of this is settled one way or the other, if you still want this match, I promise you I will do my best to see it happen.”

She smiled at him. “Mother told me that she did not love you, and you did not love her when you wed.”

Ned startled a bit at that, wondering what could have precipitated such a conversation.

Sansa continued speaking. “But you were a good man, and she liked and respected you, and the two of you wanted to have a good marriage, and from there you fell in love. I don’t believe in songs anymore, Father. But I do believe in you and Mother. And I think I might be able to believe in Willas Tyrell.”

He swallowed hard, feeling an odd lump in his throat. Catelyn held tightly to his hand, and he could see that she had been as moved by Sansa’s speech as he had. _Three and ten. Gods! She is only three and ten._ Catelyn had been eight and ten when they’d wed. He would keep Sansa here for at least another two or three years. By then, surely, peace would have found its way to the Seven Kingdoms again. Then, if this Tyrell heir still wanted her, he would speak with the man. He owed his daughters good matches. It was part of his responsibility as their father, but he vowed that neither would be forced into any match for purely political reasons, regardless of the joy he had found in his own marriage. For that joy, he silently thanked the gods that Catelyn was who she was.

“Rickon,” he said, turning to the sniffling boy. “It’s all right, lad. Your sisters aren’t angry, and everyone is safe here.”

“Nobody’s safe if there’s a war,” the boy said. “Everybody leaves. I want to go home to Last Hearth.”

Those last words were a dagger in Ned’s heart, and he felt Catelyn squeeze his hands again. The boy didn’t understand. No one had explained it to him. How could they?

“Arya,” he said. “Is Brynden still asleep?”

His younger daughter nodded.

“Put him in the cradle then. Gently. I’d prefer we not wake him, although how we haven’t yet is beyond me.”

“Mother was holding him when the girls were yelling,” Bran said. “He never wakes up if he’s sleeping on her. He’d have been screaming if he’d been in his cradle.”

Ned smiled at his his quiet son who observed everyone and everything so keenly. “I now seem to recall the rest of you were the same way as babes,” he said. “Very little disturbed you within your mother’s arms.” He looked at his wife. The gods knew he felt the same way about being in her arms.

“Sansa, Arya, would one of you find Hodor and ask him to come for Bran. Your mother and I need to speak with Rickon alone.”

All three of the older children understood immediately and nodded their assent. As Sansa vacated her spot on the bed, Rickon again scooted over so that he was pressed up against Catelyn. After a moment’s thought, Ned got up and walked around to other side of the bed to sit so that Rickon was now between his parents rather than separated from Ned by Catelyn.

When the girls were gone, Rickon asked, “Am I in trouble?”

“No, sweetling,” Catelyn assured him. “It’s only that your father and I need to tell you some very important things. Things that we had to keep very secret for a time, but that don’t have to be secrets anymore.”

“Secrets about Brynden?” the little boy asked.

Ned drew in a sharp breath.

“People talk,” Bran said. “Not in front of us most of the time. But Rickon is small, and he likes to sneak into the kitchens and take sweets. They don’t know he’s there, and he hears stuff.”

“Bran, why haven’t you told us this?” Catelyn asked somewhat sharply.

“Because he came to me. Because I answered his questions and he was okay then. I only told him what he mostly knew already because I knew you’d tell him all of it eventually.” Bran frowned a little. “And I wasn’t sure how he’d feel about all of it.”

“What secrets about Brynden do you know, Rickon?” Ned asked the little boy, who clung to Catelyn, still shy of even touching him very much.

“You are Brynden’s real father,” Rickon whispered. “But Lord Jon acts like his father just like he acts like mine.”

Ned tried not to be irritated at the child’s words. “And why has Lord Jon acted like his father? Do you know that?”

“Because little boys need fathers to keep them safe and teach them things. Like Lord Jon is teaching me to hunt and keeping the Walders from being horrible . . .mostly.”

 _Gods,_ Ned thought. _All this time I have worried for Brynden. Brynden will have no memory of any of this. I will be the only_ _father he knows. But Rickon. Jon Umber has become his father, and now I will take him away._ He swallowed. “That is exactly correct, Rickon. I am very glad Lord Jon has been here to keep you safe and teach you while I have been gone so long.”

“Forever,” Rickon said, sticking out his lower lip. “You were gone forever.”

“That is certainly how it felt to me,” Ned agreed gravely. “I feared I would never get to come home and be your father again. Now that I have come home, I see that you’ve grown up a lot in my absence, and I am very, very proud of you.”

Rickon almost smiled at that, but then he said, “Mother and Lord Jon are proud of me, too. Will we be going back to Last Hearth soon, Father? I like it at Winterfell, but I miss my brother Jon.”

For a brief moment, Ned was confused and thought that he meant Jon Snow, but Jon had left Winterfell the same day Ned had. Surely, Rickon couldn’t remember him enough to miss him.

“Smalljon Umber,” Catelyn whispered. “They are very close. Remember, I told you of it at Last Hearth.”

Rickon looked at his mother in surprise then. “He was at Last Hearth? When? I never saw him there.”

“It was in a letter, Rickon. Your mother wrote me from Last Hearth.” Ned spoke that lie readily enough. He would not have the child think he had come to Last Hearth with no interest in seeing him. He already seemed a poor excuse for a father in his son’s eyes when compared to Jon Umber.

“A letter,” said Bran, thoughtfully. “You were writing to Father at the Wall from Last Hearth, Mother?” There was almost a challenge in the question. Ned met Catelyn’s eyes and her expression told him she had not told the children here in Winterfell he had been at Last Hearth, either. He supposed there had been no point. It likely would have seemed cruel, knowing that Robb and Sansa had seen him when they could not.

A loud knock came at the door before Catelyn could answer.

“Is that you, Hodor?” Ned called.

“Hodor,” came the affirmation.

Ned rose and opened the door. Hodor entered and immediately walked to Bran, lifting the boy as easily as if he were a doll. “Take me to Sansa’s room, Hodor,” Bran said, looking meaningfully at his parents, and Ned had the uncomfortable feeling that his elder daughter was about to be interrogated.

When Ned returned to the bed, Rickon actually moved slightly away from his mother and sat straight up to speak to Ned. “I know something else about Brynden,” he said. “But I don’t know what it means.”

“What is that, Rickon?” Ned asked.

“I can’t say it. It’s a bad word. When the cook’s boy said it, she cuffed his ears. So I never asked Bran about it.”

“The cook’s boy said this bad word about Brynden?” Ned asked.

Rickon nodded. “And the cook said even if it was the plain truth, he was to never say it again or a lot more than his ears would hurt.”

Catelyn had her eyes closed and a pained expression on her face. “Did the cook’s boy call your brother a bastard, Rickon?” she asked softly.

Rickon’s eyes got wide, and he nodded solemnly. “But I never said it,” he said. “I don’t say bad words.”

Ned sighed deeply, looking from his distressed wife to his puzzled son. “It isn’t that it’s a bad word, son. It’s simply not a nice thing to call someone, especially when it isn’t true.”

“Like when Arya calls Sansa stupid?”

“Sort of. You see, a bastard is a child whose mother and father are not married to each other. As men and women are meant to be married when they have children, having a child with someone to whom you are not wed is dishonorable.”

Rickon screwed up his little face in concentration. “So . . .are we all bastards now? If Mother is married to Lord Jon, but you are our real father?”

A sound very like a sob escaped Catelyn, and Ned wanted desperately to hold her, but he needed to focus on Rickon. The little boy heard his mother make the sound, too and he turned to look at her. “Am I a bastard, Mother? Is that why you’re sad?”

“Oh, no, Rickon!” she cried, sitting up straighter herself so that she could pull him into her arms. “You most definitely are not. Neither is Brynden or any of your brothers or sisters. You are all trueborn Starks of Winterfell.”

“Trueborn,” Rickon repeated. “You said that before. That’s what leguh . . .leguh-something means.”

“It means that you are the child of your mother and father, and that your mother and father are wed to each other.” Ned said firmly.

“But Mother is married to Lord Jon,” the boy protested.

“No,” Ned said firmly. “I could not be here and keep her safe, so Lord Umber acted like her husband just as he acted like Brynden’s father.” Ned could not bring himself to say _acted like your father_. “But it was always acting, Rickon, do you understand? Lord Umber is a great friend to our house, and he kept your lady mother safe, but he was never truly her husband. Your mother is wed to me and no one else.”

Rickon stared at him for a long while, and his blue eyes filled with tears again. “But I want to go home to Last Hearth!” he cried. “How do I go home if Lord Jon is not my father and Smalljon is not my brother?”

“Your home has always been here, sweetling,” Catelyn said, still holding the boy tightly. "You have a father and three brothers as well as your mother and sisters.”

“I want my brother, Jon!” he shouted, sounding angry now. “You can’t give me a brother and take him away! It’s not fair!” He pulled out of his mother’s arms. “It’s not fair!” he shouted again, leaping from the bed. He started for the doorway.

“Rickon!” Ned called after him. “Come back here!”

“I don’t want you to be my father!” Rickon shouted. “It’s not fair!”

Stunned, Ned could only sit and watch as his son bolted from the room. He could hear Catelyn crying softly behind him and turned to face her. “Should I go after him?” he asked.

She shook her head. “He’ll run to the godswood,” she said. “To his wolf. No harm will come to him there, and you can’t deal with Rickon when he’s like this until he’s calmed down.”

It bothered Ned almost as much that he didn’t know the best manner for dealing with his own son as it did that his son didn’t want him for a father. “He’ll be cold,” he protested.

Catelyn shook her head. “We keep a cloak for him on a peg by the door in the entryway. It’s something we started doing at Last Hearth because he was forever running outside without one. He grabs it now by habit without even slowing down. And he’ll likely curl up with Shaggydog.”

“I know nothing about him,” Ned whispered bitterly. “Mayhaps, I should send Jon Umber after him.”

“Ned,” she said, reaching out to him. “He’s only a little boy. He doesn’t understand any of this, and he doesn’t mean what he said. He’s only confused.”

“Yes, he is. But he’s right about war, dammit!” He pounded a fist onto the surface of the bed. “I will leave. So will Lord Umber and Robb and Smalljon. Gods, Catelyn! What’s the child to think then?”

She pulled him into her arms just as she had done Rickon. “I will be here, my love. I will take care of Rickon. I will keep all our children safe for you, and I will not allow them to forget how much you love us. And you will come home to us, and we will put all this nightmare behind us.”

He put his arms around her then, and held her as tightly as she held him, praying that she was right. He’d been so hopeful and full of joy riding into Winterfell mere hours ago. How quickly that joy had become tears for too many of the people he loved most in all the world. This nightmare had gone on for years already, and even as the cooks prepared a celebration feast for the king who would set his household to rights, Ned Stark found himself wondering if it would ever truly and completely be over.

“I love you,” he heard Catelyn whisper against his ear, and he buried his face in her hair, allowing her arms to shield him from harm and pain just as they had shielded little Brynden. He would have to leave the shelter of her arms much sooner than he would like, for there was much to be done before the evening. But for this brief moment, he wanted and needed only to hold and be held by his wife.


	15. Catelyn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. I promise this fic is not going on a monthly update schedule. The holidays simply got very busy, and all writing was put on the back burner for awhile. Happy New Year, and I hope you enjoy the new chapter! :)

“You are certain your ankle is up to this, Cat?” Ned asked her yet again.

Catelyn Stark sighed. In truth, the ankle throbbed miserably, but as long as she put all her weight on the crutch and her good foot, it pained her no more walking through the corridors of the Great Keep than it did sitting in her room. And she had no intention of summoning Jon Umber for an audience in her chambers like a child who had misbehaved. He deserved far better than that.

“I am fine, Ned,” she said simply.

He made a dismissive sound, but didn’t question her further. She knew he did not want to speak with Jon at all. He was doing this for her. While she wished he wanted to heal the rift between himself and the man who had been a friend and bannerman to his House since before she had been his wife for Jon’s own sake instead of hers, she did not push him on it. She knew that physically he was far more exhausted and wounded than he let on, and that emotionally, he was barely keeping it together. Rickon’s outburst had wounded him more deeply than he would ever admit to anyone, even to her.

Rickon was back in the Great Keep now, in Bran’s room with his brother. If there was anyone her little boy would speak openly to, it was Bran. Ned had gone out to the godswood to bring him back after she’d had him wait as long as he could stand it. Upon his return, he hadn’t told her much about any conversation the two of them had, only that he’d found the boy with his direwolf as she’d predicted and that Rickon had agreed to come back to the Great Keep as soon as Ned made it clear he would take him directly to find Bran. Offering to take him to Bran was precisely the right thing to have done, and the fact that he’d thought to do it proved that Ned knew his third son better than he gave himself credit for. She didn’t tell him that, though. He wouldn’t want to hear it right now.

As she walked slowly and painfully beside her grim faced husband with the hand which didn’t hold her crutch tightly gripping his arm, she found it almost hard to breathe if she let herself think too much about the mere physical contact with him. She was still angry with him on some level over his earlier behavior with Jon. She was heartbroken for him over what he perceived as his son’s rejection of him. She was terrified of his marching south to war with Stannis Baratheon. Yet, above all that, she was overwhelmed by the simple fact that he was here. She was touching him. After years of long separations and almost unendurable trials, her husband was beside her. Tonight, they would sit together at the High Table in the Great Hall for the first time since he had ridden away with Robert Baratheon and she’d refused to even come away from Bran’s bedside to see him off. She could not forget all the troubles still surrounding them, but her heart soared in spite of that because Ned was the Lord of Winterfell again. And in a matter of hours, she would stand openly beside him once more, as his Lady.

“Oh,” she said, stopping suddenly beside a closed door. Lost in her thoughts, she had nearly passed the room where Jon was staying.

“This is it?” Ned said darkly.

“This is his room. He may be elsewhere, but I doubt it.” He’d been so angry when he left them in the corridor. Catelyn rather thought he would have gone directly to his room and remained there. He’d have preferred to ride out into the woods, she knew, but she didn’t think he would do that with the castle so full of Stannis’s men. For all his bluster and impulsiveness, Jon Umber generally thought very carefully before doing anything that might affect her. Except when he was in her presence.

Ned squared his shoulders and knocked firmly upon the door.

“Who is it?” came the growled response from within.

Ned frowned, and Catelyn tightened her grip on his arm, looking up at him warningly. He sighed. “Eddard Stark,” he called evenly. “We need to talk, Jon.”

The sound of heavy footsteps preceded the door being abruptly jerked open, and then Jon Umber‘s enormous frame filled the doorway. “If you expect me to apologize, I . . .” The big man stopped abruptly as he realized Ned had not come alone. “Catelyn,” he said, tightening his jaw as he looked at her.

Catelyn could just see the top of a purple bruise on his right cheek. Thankfully, Ned had hit him in the jaw rather than the eye, and most of the bruising was concealed beneath his thick, dark beard. “Let us come in, Jon,” she said quietly.

He hesitated only a brief moment before nodding once and stepping back out of the way. Catelyn hobbled through the doorway never letting go of Ned’s arm. The two men glared at each other warily like two predators assessing a threat. She sighed. “Why don’t we all sit down?”

When neither man made a move to sit, she sighed again. “Well, I’m going to sit down. Ned, help me.” She indicated a chair on the far side of the room which would put as much space between the two men as possible. When Ned had walked her there and assisted her in sitting down, she kept hold of his hand, and he remained standing beside her chair.

“I won’t apologize for . . .” Jon started again.

“We all have things we can apologize for,” Catelyn said quickly before Ned could react. “As for you, Jon, your behavior in the corridor was inexcusable.”

Umber grunted but made no further protest as he most certainly would have done had Ned said that to him. Catelyn continued. “My husband is returned to me after a long absence. I don’t know what you thought was taking place outside my chambers, my lord, but what you saw was a wife eager to have her husband in her bed once more. That is both my right and my private concern. You had no business interfering in it.”

She could feel the tension running through Ned, but he remained silent. Jon met her eyes and after a moment, said quietly, “I misunderstood. I am sorry, my lady. I meant no offense to you.”

As Catelyn considered the best way to point out to the man that he should apologize to Ned as well, she heard her husband say quite calmly, “I am sorry I hit you, Jon.” Umber’s gaze jerked toward Ned at that. “My lady wife is correct in stating that you were out of line, but for a year now, it has been your task to protect her with your name, your honor, and your strength. I should have remembered that and acted with more . . .restraint.”

Catelyn was rather amazed at the restraint he was exercising now. Mayhaps he did understand what she had tried so hard to explain to him. His jaw muscles were as tight as she’d ever seen them, though, and she knew he was only one ill-said word from exploding again.

Umber regarded him a moment. “I was wrong . . .in the corridor. I am sorry for that, my lord.” Ned nodded acceptance of the apology. “But I am not wrong in thinking that no one has the ability to hurt her like you do. And I will not allow that to happen.”

Ned’s voice was a low growl when he responded although he didn’t move from his place by Catelyn’s chair. “I do not need your instruction on how to treat my wife, Lord Umber.”

“I think perhaps you do,” Jon said, actually taking a step toward him. He was close to a foot taller than Ned and twice as broad, but Ned did not flinch or back away. “You abandoned her,” Jon continued. “I know you did what you thought was needful, but then you came to Winterfell, used her for your needs, and left her alone and with child, and never so much as thought about her again until you turned up half dead at Last Hearth. Not one letter. Not one word. Then you kept insisting that I had to be her true husband, but now that I act like a husband, you nearly break my jaw for it! You have not been precisely constant in terms of your views on your marriage to Lady Catelyn, my lord, and I have seen every day for the past year what that has done to her.”

Ned pulled his hand from Catelyn’s grip and closed the distance between himself and Lord Umber. “Never thought of her?” he nearly shouted up into the bigger man’s face. “Never thought of her?!?” His face was a mask of icy fury, and Catelyn feared what he might do next, but he only took several deep breaths and lowered his voice before he continued speaking, never taking his eyes from Jon Umber’s. “I have made my mistakes,” he said softly. “And I have acknowledged them to my wife. I have no need to discuss them with you. But as for thinking of her . . .not a day or even an hour has passed by in all the moons we’ve been separated that I have not thought of her. You have cared for and protected my wife and my son as if they were your own, and for that I owe you more than I can possibly repay. For that, I will suffer your indictment of my actions. But do not ever presume to tell me that I have not thought of Catelyn. You know nothing of it.”

“I know what she feels for you,” Jon said almost inaudibly. “I wish to the gods that I didn’t, but I do. She deserves better than you have given her.”

Catelyn could hear the pain in Jon’s words just as she could see the pain in Ned’s eyes as that verbal blow landed. She knew full well the terrible guilt her husband carried with him over far too many things and hated that she was one of them. “Stop it,” she said then. “Both of you. I won’t listen to you do this any longer.” She held out her hand. “Come here, Ned.”

Ned turned away from Umber then and returned to take her hand once more. “Forgive me, my love,” he whispered, bending down to her, and she knew he wasn’t only speaking of the current argument with Jon.

“Always,” she whispered, reaching up to touch his face briefly before looking up at Jon Umber staring at the two of them with a look of anguish on his face. She hated that. She couldn’t stand hurting this man, but Ned was her husband. She couldn’t change that and would never want to. Jon knew that.

“Please sit down, Jon,” she said. “You, too, Ned. I’m weary of staring up at the two of you, and I cannot stand up on this leg.”

She realized there was only one other chair in the room. Wordlessly, Jon pushed it toward Ned and then seated himself on the bed. Ned pulled the chair beside hers and sat down.

“Jon,” she said then, taking Ned’s hand in hers. “We are both more than grateful for everything you have done for me and Brynden. And Rickon, too. I have told you I would not have survived the past year without you, and I spoke truly. You mean a great deal to me, and I wish you only happiness.” The look he gave her broke her heart, but she took a deep breath, held tightly to Ned’s hand, and continued. “And I cannot give you any happiness.”

“My lady . . .Catelyn . . .I do not expect . . .”

“You expect nothing, Jon,” she interrupted him. “You do what I’ve asked of you and you expect nothing in return. It isn’t fair, and I know it.” She heard the slight break in her voice and stopped speaking. She could not cry now.

Ned stepped into the void. “My lord,” he said formally and somewhat stiffly. “I am not a blind man. I am not insensible of the fact that you have . . .strong feelings toward my wife.” Umber tightened his jaw, but he continued to meet Ned’s gaze and made no denial. “I do not pretend to be pleased by that,” Ned continued, “But I can hardly fault you for it. I believe you to be an honorable man, Lord Umber, but I cannot be comfortable having you around Catelyn any more than necessary.”

“I would never . . .” Jon started to protest.

“I know you would not,” Ned interrupted him. “And even if I thought you would, I know my own wife far better than that.” He squeezed Catelyn’s hand, and she felt warmed. “However, I confess I am a jealous man where my lady wife is concerned. I do not want you even to think of her, and I certainly don’t ever want to see you looking at her the way you have been since we walked into this room.”

Catelyn watched Jon Umber’s eyes darken with anger at that. “You are my liege lord. You are Lady Catelyn’s husband. You can tell me to do a great many things, my lord, and I’ll do them. But you cannot tell me what to think or where to look or who I am allowed to be concerned about.”

At least neither of them stood up, but the two men glared at each other once more, and Catelyn shut her eyes and let out a great huffing breath. “No one can tell anyone else what to think or feel,” she said exasperatedly. “It won’t do any good. Neither will this ridiculous jealous posturing over me.” She opened her eyes and turned them on her husband. “Ned, I am your wife. I belong to you. Nothing anyone says or does will ever change that. You cannot allow yourself to become upset by every word said about me or to me or by every glance thrown my way.” She looked at Jon then. “And you, Jon. Tonight, Stannis Baratheon will announce to all present here that our marriage was a sham--a noble act of protection on your part toward your liege lord’s lady wife and son. You have acted as nothing more than a loyal bannerman and a friend to House Stark. As such, you cannot go about the Hall gazing longingly at me and glowering at my husband.”

“I do not gaze longingly at anyone,” Jon blustered. She didn’t bother to contradict him. All three of them knew the truth well enough.

She sighed again and looked levelly at both of them. “Do you truly understand what’s going to happen here tonight, my lords? Have you thought about it? Because I have.” She swallowed. “Stannis Baratheon is going to declare that I am the wife of Eddard Stark and that Brynden is his trueborn son. He will declare that I was never truly married to you, Jon.” She swallowed again. “And then for the rest of our lives, people will wonder about us. I lived under your roof at Last Hearth for a long time, Jon. How can it be that you never once took me to bed?”

Both men stood then, shouting protests, and she closed her eyes again briefly before pushing herself up to stand as well, awkwardly with most of her weight on the good leg. They silenced themselves instantly as she stood. “This is precisely what you cannot do,” she said softly. “It will only feed the speculation, the rumors, the japes.”

She looked at Ned then and took both his hands in hers. “Brynden’s face will protect him now. No one can see him and not know he’s yours. There are still those who will call him bastard to his face as he grows, but he will have the law and the truth on his side, and we will raise him to be strong and honorable in the face of wicked tongues.”

“I will not have anyone speak ill of you or my son, my lady,” Ned said fiercely.

“They will speak so whether you will it or not, my lord,” she told him. “The moment we lay together and made Brynden . . .and that was as much my doing, if not even more so, as my lord husband’s . . .” she said suddenly, turning to Jon as she remembered his words about Ned’s ‘using her to meet his needs.’ “The moment we did that, we opened ourselves to scandal, and we can never completely close that door now, however many decrees we have from Stannis Baratheon.”

“But you have done nothing wrong, my lady. Ever,” Jon Umber protested.

She shrugged. “There are those who would still say that I sinned when I lay with a man of the Night’s Watch, whether he was ever my husband or no. Whether he deserved the Wall or no. And what of us, Jon? Our wedding was fairly well attended. Do you not remember how often you kissed me as we danced or how you were so eager to get me into bed that you threw me over your shoulder and carried me from the Hall? And the maids can attest we spent the night together in my bed and that you threw them out the next morning.”

Beside her, Ned stiffened and his eyes went almost black. She had never discussed with him the details of her wedding to Jon Umber.

Jon was shouting something now, some protest about how that was all misconstrued and that she was making it sound like something it wasn’t. She paid no attention to him. She put her hands on Ned’s shoulders and turned him to face her. “Jon kissed me because Roose Bolton suspected the marriage was a trick of some sort. He carried me out of the Hall to spare me the indignity of a bedding ceremony with a stranger in my own husband’s castle. As for the bed, we did have to share it that one night, but we did not touch, we were certainly not undressed, and I have never been more miserable in all my life.”

“Yes,” Jon said then. “That’s how it was. Why the devil did you say it like you did before, Catelyn?”

Ned’s eyes were still dark, but they looked more pained than furious now. Catelyn did not look away from him. “Because that is how others will say it,” she said softly. “Possibly as early as tonight, but certainly at some point, and likely for the rest of our lives.”

“Cat . . .” Ned finally croaked hoarsely.

“I would rather you heard it spoken so by me first, my love. I know the truth of things. As long as you know it also, then I can let the ugly words of others roll off my back. You must learn to do the same.”

She saw the muscle in his throat work as he swallowed. “But Stannis has promised to send out letters as well. Letters which will outline the truth of things.”

She smiled at him. “I know, my love. And upon his words, we can build our future. But those words will not stop people talking. Those who know us best, they will accept the truth. Others . . .if it is to their advantage to accept it, they will. If not, they will slander us. For a great many people, it will simply be a source of amusement to speculate about whether or not I truly put horns on you, my love. And you cannot hit everyone in the Seven Kingdoms, Ned.”

She did look away from him then to give the same admonishment to Umber. “Nor can you, Jon.”

“No one will speak ill of you in my presence and live to see another day, my lady,” Jon Umber said fiercely.

“I can defend my own wife’s honor,” Ned growled.

“Wonderful!” Catelyn said, throwing up her hands and nearly losing her balance. “Start by fighting each other for the privilege of beating up other people in my name. No one will ever stop talking about the three of us!”

“Catelyn, you cannot expect me to stand by and let men insult you to your face. You know me far better than that, my lady,” Ned told her darkly.

“Yes, I do know you. And I confess, if someone has the gall to name me whore to my face, I shall take great pleasure in watching you make him sorry for it. But you cannot go chasing after every rumor or react to every remark. If we simply keep ourselves above it, many people will eventually tire of talking about it.”

“Many people,” he echoed. “But not all.”

“No, my love. Never all,” she sad sadly.

“I have done this to you,” he said bitterly.

Catelyn looked up when Jon grunted a sound of agreement. She gave him a dark look and then turned back to Ned. “No,” she said firmly. “The Lannisters have done this to all of us. Whatever mistakes we may have made, the true blame for our troubles lies in their treachery. We mustn’t allow ourselves to get distracted from our true enemies by blaming ourselves or each other.”

Both men were silent as she looked back and forth between them. “Can you do this tonight, my lords?” she asked them.

They didn’t answer her. “I am asking you if you can do this,” she said more firmly. “Can you suffer with good grace the whispers and odd looks that will certainly follow whatever announcement the king makes at the feast tonight?”

“I’d rather take on the Lannisters or even those bloody things north of the Wall,” Jon muttered.

Ned actually laughed. It was only a short bark of a laugh, but he walked over and clapped the big man on the back. “I agree with you with you wholeheartedly, my lord.” He turned to look back at Catelyn. “But we shall behave ourselves, my lady. You have my word.”

“And mine,” Umber said gruffly.

Catelyn looked at the two of them. They were both sincere, and seeing them standing side by side with Ned’s hand on Jon’s back gave her all kinds of hope. Yet, she still feared what the evening might bring. Good intentions aside, she prayed that no one said anything too offensive at the feast where either of them could hear it. She wanted to sit with Ned at that table more than she’d wanted anything in a long time, but she didn’t delude herself about what that seat might cost. She realized suddenly she should have this conversation with Robb as well. He was no better at handling slights to her than his father was.

“Thank you,” she said to the two men in front of her. “We shall celebrate tonight, my lords, for what we have all worked for is now within our grasp.” Ned’s smile then was genuine while Jon’s had a forced quality, but she supposed she could ask for no more. “I believe you should seek out King Stannis, my lord,” she said to Ned then, “if you intend to speak to him before the feast tonight. We shall soon run short on time, I fear.”

Ned nodded. “I am taking you back to your room first, my lady. And you are not to leave it until the feast, do you understand? You will keep that ankle propped up and have someone bring snow like Sansa and Arya did earlier.”

“Do as he says, Catelyn,” Jon quickly agreed. “You do not need to be in pain tonight.”

Catelyn had to work at not laughing at her husband’s face as she watched him struggle between his desire to call Jon out for telling his wife what to do and his appreciation of his support for getting her to do what Ned wanted. He said nothing, and simply handed her her crutch, offering his arm to support her other hand.

Just before they reached the doorway, Jon called out, “Lord Eddard!”

Ned and Catelyn both turned to face him.

“You told me you were a jealous man, my lord,” the big man said, shaking his head slowly. “I confess that if I were you, I would likely wish to kill me.”

His words shocked Catelyn until she realized his face bore just the hint of a grin, and she realized this was some sort of obscure masculine apology for things the man would never actually name.

Ned obviously understood him well enough. “Just don’t give me any more cause to wish you dead than I’ve already got,” he said simply. Apology accepted.

Catelyn shook her head as they walked from the room. “So things will be better between you now?” she asked her husband as they walked along slowly.

“I believe so,” he said. “As long as he can behave himself around you.”

“Ned!”

“I didn’t say he wouldn’t, Cat. I only said that he and I should have no difficulties as long as he does.”

She sighed.

They walked in silence back to her chambers, but when they stood outside her door, he turned her to face him. “I am sorry, my lady,” he said solemnly.

“For what?”

“Everything. Every broken promise. Every lie. Every tear I’ve caused to fall from these blue eyes.” He leaned in to kiss her softly on each eyelid.

“What about tears of joy? You’ve put those there as well,” she said softly. “And I am not sorry for that.”

He looked at her intently. “Do you ever still wonder what life would have brought you had my sister never gone with Rhaegar Targaryen? If Brandon had not been killed by Mad Aerys?”

“Stop it,” she said. “We spoke of all this at Last Hearth. I have no wish to think on such things Ned. I have no wish to think on any life for me without you.”

“In spite of all the hurt I’ve caused you?”

“Don’t. Don’t put all of it on your own shoulders, my lord. And never doubt that I wish to be your wife. If I lost all that I have save you and the children, I could be well content. Yet, when you were lost to me, nothing could content me at all.”

He looked at her for another long moment and then kissed her. His lips and tongue sought to possess hers and his arms went tightly around her. She began to feel some of the heat that had threatened to burn her alive when they’d stood almost in this exact spot earlier in the day.

“Ned,” she breathed against his lips. “Perhaps you should take me inside. Kissing in corridors hasn’t turned out so well for us today.”

He laughed huskily, but pushed open the door to her room and led her inside. “Would that I could stay and kiss you properly,” he said regretfully as he helped her to recline back onto her bed and prop up her leg. “But Stannis will likely not wait for me much longer, and should he barge in here to find me doing any one of the things I’d like to do to you right now, he might die, and then where would we be?”

Catelyn laughed. “He is a married man, Ned.”

Ned made a snorting kind of sound. “He isn’t married to you.” Then he ran his fingers through her hair and kissed her soundly once more. “Gods, Cat,” he breathed when he pulled himself away from her and stood up. “I would never have believed it possible to want a woman more every day of your life than you did the day before, but that is what you do to me. You are . . .everything, my love.”

Her eyes filled with tears, and as she put up a hand to wipe at them, she laughed. “See?” she said. “These are the happy ones I told you about. And I would suffer a good many of the other kind to share these with you.”

He took her hand and held it for a moment before putting it to his lips and letting it go. “I do not want to leave you even for a short while,” he said.

“We will have all night,” she promised him. “I will not let you leave me then, my love.”

He nodded. “To Stannis then,” he sighed, and turned to walk to the door.

“Oh!” she called after him. “Send me Robb if you see him.”

“Robb?” he asked.

“It occurred to me that he might benefit from the same admonishment about behavior at tonight’s feast as I gave you and Lord Umber,” she said, tilting her head.

He grinned at her. “Damn! I was hoping you wouldn’t think of that. I was rather enjoying the prospect of Grey Wind ripping out the throats of anyone who dared question you, my lady.”

“Ned!”

“I shall behave,” he promised once more. “And I shall send you our firstborn.”

She smiled after him as he left her room, once again unable to dwell on the many troubles surrounding them as she basked in the pure joy of her husband’s presence in Winterfell.

Robb did come to her room, arriving just after the maids had finished wrapping her ankle in blankets full of snow. Ned had apparently ordered them to attend to her ankle before going off to find Stannis. She’d been a bit more gentle with him as she explained the types of things men might say once they were told the truth this evening, but his cheeks flamed and his blue eyes flashed, and he assured her he’d have the heads of any man who spoke of her so. Slowly she’d tried to explain to him as she’d done to Ned and Jon before that no amount of righteous anger would stop all idle talk and that he needed to rise above simple rudeness or innuendo. She’d extracted a promise of good behavior from him, but she gauged it to be no more solid than those she’d gotten from the two older men.

As he was leaving her room, she asked him, “How’s Roslin? How has she taken all this?”

“She’s speaking to me now,” he said with a frown. “That’s something, I suppose. But it’s a good thing the Greatjon moved to Galbart’s old guestroom because I needed my room last night.”

“Robb . . .”

“It will be all right, Mother,” he said quickly. “She’s angry at me. She has a right to be. But she knows everything now. I told her all of it before Father arrived here. She’d guessed about Brynden, of course. And I think whatever you’d said to her helped her some.” He shrugged. “She was wonderful to Father when he arrived in the courtyard, and she still wasn’t speaking to me then except in public. Now, that Father’s here, she seems to be a little better with all of it, really. We haven’t had a chance to truly sit down and talk since then, but I have spent a few moments alone with her, and she says she’s truly happy for Father and you.” He smiled ruefully. “Maybe, she’ll even dance with me tonight.”

Catelyn smiled back at him. “I have no doubt she will dance with you, Robb. It may take some time, but she will forgive you all of it. Is she upset that she will no longer be the Lady of Winterfell?”

Robb laughed. “That’s the one thing I know she isn’t mad about. She says she’ll be more than happy to let you have all the headache of being lady of this castle, and she can just be waited upon as the wife of the heir and spend her days playing with the babe when it arrives.”

Catelyn smiled. She could hear Roslin saying such a thing. She also knew it was only partially true. She would make certain to include her gooddaughter in the management of Winterfell as much as the young woman wished.

When Elin arrived to help her prepare for the feast, Catelyn was relieved to find that her ankle was much better for the time spent propped up and wrapped with snow, but she found herself more nervous about dresses and her hair than she could remember being in a long time. She hadn’t quite lost all the weight she’d gained with Brynden although she certainly was trimmer than she had been when she’d left Last Hearth. Her breasts, of course were very full so she had to choose a gown whose bodice could accommodate them. Ned always liked her in blue, but she felt it was important to wear Stark colors this evening. She wanted most of all to please her husband, but she needed to please everyone here.

Finally, she decided upon a soft grey gown with blue accents through the bodice and at the hem. The bodice was cut just a bit lower than most of her gowns, and showed off the tops of her full breasts nicely. She smiled to think of how much Ned would enjoy looking at that and how he would get annoyed when other men did the same. She allowed Elin to do a few simple but decorative braids and twists of her hair to pull the front of it back out of her face, but she left the majority of it down because Ned liked it that way. When the maid had finished with her, Catelyn surveyed her reflection in the mirror and thought that she didn’t look half bad.

When her daughters arrived within the next five minutes, both of them stared at her open mouthed and then proceeded to tell her that she was the most beautiful lady in the world. She’d laughed at both of them, telling them she could only be the third most beautiful lady in the world after looking at both of them. In truth, they did both look lovely. Sansa was utterly breathtaking in a blue dress the precise color of her eyes. With her height and graceful figure, she looked older than her three and ten years, and Catelyn found herself rather grateful that Willas Tyrell was no longer at Winterfell. He might not be as interested in a very long betrothal if he saw her like this.

Arya looked shockingly grown up herself in a pretty gown of forest green. She didn’t yet have her older sister’s curves, but as Catelyn had noted upon her arrival to Winterfell, her body had begun to take on a slender feminine shape hinting at the woman she would become. She had made a face when Catelyn had insisted that she and her sister were the prettiest ladies in the world, but she was beautiful. Her dark hair falling down over the green of her dress was particularly lovely. Of course, one braid had already come loose on the left side of her head, and Arya protested loudly when Catelyn set her down at her dressing table and put Elin to fixing it. From the back, Catelyn noticed there was a dark smudge of something down low on the skirt of Arya’s dress as well, but she decided to let that pass. She knew her daughter well enough to know that it would be one of many spots on the dress by the evening’s end.

“Where are the boys?”

“They’re coming. They were waiting on Hodor for Bran. His chair’s in the Great Hall so he can move around there as he likes,” Arya answered her. “Do we get to stay up for the whole time?” she asked.

“We shall see,” Catelyn replied, wondering if she should have said anything to the children about possible repercussions from tonight’s announcement. Most everyone in Winterfell was somewhat protective of her children, and she hoped that any lords or other nobles here with Stannis or visiting from nearby keeps would have the courtesy not to insult children with cruel words about their parents.

“That generally means no.” Catelyn looked up to see Hodor carrying in a smiling Bran who had made that observation. “You look really beautiful, Mother,” he added.

“Thank you, sweetling. Where’s . . .”

Before she could finish the question, an enormous black direwolf raced into her room and threw itself against her.

“Hello, Shaggy,” she laughed. “Rickon, call him off me before he puts his paws all over my dress,” she said as Rickon entered the room.

“Father says Shaggy can’t come to the feast,” Rickon said angrily as he snapped his fingers to call the wolf to his side. “Lord Jon says the same. I don’t know why not. The wolves are always allowed in the Great Hall here.”

“Not tonight,” Catelyn sighed. “There will be far more people present than usual, and there will be dancing. No wolves. No dogs.”

“Sounds boring,” Rickon pouted.

Catelyn ruffled the hair of her little boy who looked very handsome in his little doublet and good breeches. Someone had even cleaned his boots, although she rather suspected that, like Arya’s dress, the boots would not remain clean very long. “Well, you may go back to your room and bring Shaggy inside as early as you like once you’ve eaten, Rickon. For now, why don’t you take Shaggy out to the godswood. I’m assuming the other wolves are there?”

Arya and Bran both nodded. “Even Grey Wind,” Bran said. “Robb said he didn’t want to risk having him in the Hall if he got angry tonight. Do you know what he meant by that?”

Her son looked at her meaningfully, but Catelyn merely bit her lip and tried not to laugh.

“Come on, Rickon. I’ll go with you to take Shaggy out,” said Arya. “I want to see Nymeria before the feast anyway.”

“Mind your dress,” Catelyn told her. “Both of you, mind your good clothes. You both look far too nice now to arrive at the feast looking like mudballs.”

Arya rolled her eyes. “We’ll be good. Come on, Rickon.”

Arya, Rickon and the wolf left her room.

“I promised Roslin I’d stop in her room and show her my dress before the feast,” Sansa said. “I’ll see you in the Great Hall, Mother.”

“All right, sweetling. Tell Roslin I’m waiting for your father, and I’ll see her and Robb in the Hall.”

Once she was gone, Bran looked up at her. “You and Father are going into the feast together?”

“Yes, Bran,” she said. “There are to be no more secrets or lies in Winterfell after tonight.”

He regarded her carefully from the chair where Hodor had placed him. “You mean like how Father was at Last Hearth and nobody told Arya or me?”

She sighed. “Who’s been telling you what now?”

“No one will tell me anything, but Sansa’s a horrible liar.”

“She is,” Catelyn agreed. “She’s like your father. She can keep a secret very well, but telling an outright lie does not come easily to her at all.”

“He was there, though, wasn’t he?”

She looked at her son and nodded. “Briefly. He was brought to the castle nearly dead by two men who didn’t know who he was. He’d been in a terrible battle north of the Wall and barely escaped with his life. We told no one who he was. And of course, he had to go back to the Wall when he recovered. But he got to see Brynden, and since Sansa and Robb were there, they got to see him, too.”

“Why didn’t you trust me and Arya with that?” Bran asked.

“It wasn’t a matter of trust, Bran. I didn’t see the point in hurting you. I didn’t know then when your father would be able to return to Winterfell. Would it have helped you in anyway to know that Robb, Sansa, and I had all gotten to see him at Last Hearth when you hadn’t?”

He thought for a moment. “No,” he said finally. “But I still wish you’d told us.”

“I’m sorry, Bran. I was trying to do what was best.”

He nodded. “I’m not angry at you. Will you promise me, though, not to keep important secrets from me any more? I’m nine years old, Mother. Almost ten. I can be trusted.”

She leaned down and kissed his forehead. “You can. I will not keep any secrets from you in an effort to spare your feelings.”

He grinned. “Is it okay if Hodor takes me out to the godswood for just a little bit, too? So I can see Summer?”

“Of course,” she said.

“And can I sit with Jojen and Meera at this feast like I always do for dinner?”

“Of course. Unless you’d like to sit between the Walders?”

“That isn’t funny, Mother,” Bran said as she laughed. “I think you should let the wolves come to the feast and make the Walders stay out in the godswood.”

She leaned down again and whispered, “Don’t tell anyone, but I’m half inclined to agree with you.”

Bran and Hodor hadn’t been gone more than a few moments when a soft knock came at her door. She smiled. He always knocked. Even after all these years. “Come in,” she called, and turned to face the door.

Ned stepped into her room and she drew in her breath. His beard was freshly trimmed, and he looked alarmingly handsome to her standing there in his best dark grey doublet. She’d kept all of his clothes, but this was the first time she’d seen him in anything other than the black of the Night’s Watch or a nightshirt since he’d left to become the Hand of the King. He was staring at her, speechless.

She smiled at him. “You look very handsome, my lord,” she told him.

He continued to stare at her, his eyes moving over every part of her. “Gods, Cat,” he said after a few moments. “How can you be real?”

She blushed at his words and he came and took her into his arms, kissing her deeply. When his hand reached into her hair, however, she pushed it away. “Careful,” she breathed against his lips. “After the feast, you can do whatever you like with my hair, but let’s have it look respectable until then.”

“Let’s not go to the feast,” he said breathlessly, and he kissed her again.

“I’m afraid we have to, my love,” she said when they broke apart once more. “The king awaits us.”

“The king be damned. Do you have any idea how truly beautiful you are, my lady?”

There was no hint of teasing in his tone as his grey eyes seemed to look into her soul. “I only know that I feel beautiful when you look at me like that,” she told him.

He smiled at her then and gently traced the curve of her face with his fingers. “Well, Lady Stark, you should feel alarmingly beautiful all night then, because I do not intend to take my eyes from you.”

“I am glad to hear it, Lord Stark,” she smiled.

He kissed her again, and she began to think that skipping the feast sounded like a perfectly reasonable idea, but he groaned and pulled himself away from her. “Damn Stannis Baratheon,” he sighed. “We are to go in together and sit in our own seats. Stannis will be seated on the other side of me. Jon is to sit on your other side.” He scowled just slightly when he said that, and Catelyn bit her lip to keep from laughing at him.

“What of Robb?”

“He’s on the other side of Stannis with Roslin beside him.”

Catelyn nodded her approval. The High Table would be all Northmen save the king. That was the best way to go about this. Stannis could honor his own men some other night. This night was about the return of the Lord of Winterfell.

“Has he told you what he plans to say?”

“He’s Stannis Baratheon. He’ll say as little as necessary. He’ll make a statement of facts and sit back down. Robb is going to speak afterward, though, and he can smooth over whatever rough edges the king leaves behind.”

Catelyn frowned. “Robb is so young. Are you certain . . .”

“Cat, he has your gift with words. And he knows more the minds of the men here than I do at the moment. You’ve been with him all this time. You know he is more than capable of speaking to a hall full of Northmen.”

She smiled. “He is. You will speak after that?”

“I suppose I’ll have to say something. Then we’ll eat.” He looked at her again as if he were more interested in devouring her than whatever the cooks had prepared, and she went weak in the knees. “And then we stay there only as long as we absolutely have to.”

She laughed. “You sound like Rickon.”

He gave her a puzzled look.

“He said the feast sounds boring since no wolves are allowed, and I promised him he could leave as soon as he’s eaten if he likes.”

“Sensible lad,” Ned said. Then a shadow passed his face. “How did Rickon seem otherwise?”

“He’s fine, Ned. It will take him some time, but he will be fine. He loves you.”

He made a sound then that told her he had his doubts about that, but then he bowed formally to her and held out his arm. “Shall we, my lady?”

She took her lord husband’s arm and smiled up at him. “I would be honored, my lord.”


	16. Eddard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the very long delay in updating this story. I hope this chapter is worth the wait.

Ned Stark found himself absurdly grateful for the thick cloak wrapped around his wife’s shoulders as he walked her through the courtyard toward the Great Hall for it concealed the rise of her full breasts above the too-low neckline of her dress. _That_ _dress!_ Ned knew well enough that his wife was a beautiful woman in any attire, but he had not seen her in such an elaborate gown since before his departure for King’s Landing in another lifetime. Even the dress she had worn to his room after the feast for Robb in Last Hearth had been a poor garment compared to the dress she wore tonight. Stark grey, he’d noted. His Catelyn had intentionally dressed to leave no doubt in the minds of anyone that she was Lady Stark. There was a blue ribbon that ran through the top of the bodice, though, echoing the blue of her eyes perfectly and accenting the damned neckline--drawing his own eyes to the creamy skin with its faint freckles there where her breasts rose so temptingly. He loved everything about her in that dress, and the memory of his first glimpse of her in it when he’d entered her chambers caused his cock to begin stiffening in spite of the fact that she was now nearly completely covered from his view in her cloak and hood. The thought that his Hall was full of men who would soon be looking at her without her cloak and whose eyes would undoubtedly be drawn to the same lovely skin made him growl low in his throat.

“My lord?” she said softly, questioning him.

“Nothing, my lady. I only wish to have this well behind us.”

“As do I, my love. As do I.”

Their progress was slowed by her injured ankle even though he’d insisted she use her crutch at least until they got to the Hall. Once they reached the entryway, she wished to walk through the Hall up to the table without it, and he knew he could support her well enough for that distance on his arm, so he’d made the compromise with her.

When they entered the Hall, they could hear the joyful noise of a great number of people gathered for a celebratory meal, but Stannis Baratheon’s face as he met them looked anything but celebratory.

“So good of you to join us, Lord Stark. I had begun to wonder if you intended to come at all.”

Ned’s jaw tightened, but before he could respond, Catelyn said quickly, “Forgive us, Your Grace. I fear my ankle injury makes walking any distance a painfully slow endeavor, and my lord husband is far too careful of me to hurry me along.”

Stannis looked at Catelyn as if surprised she had spoken, and Ned suppressed a smile. The man would have to get over that if he were to spend any time at all here in Winterfell. With no relaxation of his grim expression whatsoever, Stannis said, “Very well. We shall proceed into the Hall. You all know your places.”

The last remark was addressed to the others gathered in the entry, and Ned looked to see Jon Umber who appeared remarkably uncomfortable, and all of his children save Brynden. Robb’s little Frey wife stood beside him, wearing a burgundy gown with grey trim and a large direwolf brooch. She looked quite pretty, and Ned smiled at the obvious bulge of her belly where his grandchild rested.

“Did you not bring it with you?” Stannis Baratheon asked suddenly, and Ned turned back to look at him, wondering what he was talking about.

“The babe,” Stannis said, in some irritation when he saw Ned’s blank look. “The one you managed to get while you were sworn to the Night’s Watch. If it looks as much like you as I’ve been told, it might help to have it out where men can see it.”

Ned felt Catelyn stiffen beside him. She’d been surveying the mud on Rickon’s shoes and along the hem of Arya’s dress with obvious dismay, but now she turned her gaze full on Stannis Baratheon. He spoke quickly before she had a chance to find words.

“My son, Brynden, sleeps,” he said coldly. “He is an infant who has who has little need to attend a feast.”

“And he is not an object to be entered as evidence,” Catelyn hissed between gritted teeth.

Stannis Baratheon regarded both of them for a moment. “I meant no disrespect to either of you,” he said finally. “I only wish to have done with this business and move on toward removing the bastard who sits upon my throne and securing the Seven Kingdoms from all threats. Surely, we can agree upon that.”

“Certainly, Your Grace,” Ned answered.

He helped Catelyn out of her cloak, hanging it on a peg. He turned back to see Stannis Baratheon’s eyes fixed upon his wife, and he frowned. If even this cold man could not be unaffected by Cat’s appearance, how much gaping would there be from the men assembled in the Hall? He held his arm out for her.

“If we are to affirm her position as the Lady of Winterfell, would it not be better protocol for her to enter with her king, my lord?” Stannis asked quietly, and Ned’s frown deepened. He recalled the last time Winterfell had hosted royalty, and he’d suffered walking into the Hall with a frosty Cersei Lannister listening to Robert make wildly inappropriate comments to Catelyn as he escorted her to her place while she tried to keep his hands from wandering over her. While Stannis Baratheon would never behave in such a manner, Ned was thoroughly tired of his wife taking the arms of any other men.

“A most courteous thought, Your Grace,” he said, with all the courtesy he could muster. “But I fear my lady’s ankle does make walking rather difficult for her at the moment, and she’s given me quite a bit of instruction in how to best keep her balanced. Besides, I am far more interested in affirming her as my wife, and I believe escorting her into my hall on my arm should make my intentions on that matter quite clear to everyone.”

Catelyn smiled up at him gratefully and took his arm before Stannis could reply.

“I would be honored if you would escort me, Your Grace,” Roslin said then. Her voice was soft, but not timid, and Ned looked at his gooddaughter with approval. “I have been acting as the Lady of Winterfell for some time, after all, and I am still the wife of Lord Stark’s heir and mother to his grandchild.”

Stannis hesitated only briefly before offering the young woman his arm, and Ned saw Robb watching his little wife with no small measure of pride. He approved of that, too. Robb then gave his arm to Sansa, and Jon Umber offered his to Arya. His second daughter did not look overly pleased with the arrangement, but she managed to keep from scowling as she accepted the arm of the man who would no longer be called stepfather to her in a very short time. Rickon stood beside Bran in his chair, and Ned realized that Bran intended to wheel himself down the length of the Hall rather than allow anyone to push him. He smiled at his son and nodded slightly. Then he looked back to Catelyn.

“My lady?”

“My lord,” she replied with a smile.

They led the others into the large main chamber of the Great Hall, and Ned was aware of faces turning toward them. The general babble quieted some, and was slowly replaced by the sounds of hands clapping and pewter mugs being pounded on the wooden tables. He had no idea what thoughts the men had or what specifically they were cheering. Half of the men in the Hall were Stannis’s, so he supposed they cheered their king. The Northmen present were largely soldiers of Winterfell, although there were a few men visiting from some relatively close castles such as Cerwyn and Torrhen Square.

When they reached the high table, and Ned pulled out Catelyn’s seat for her, he noted she looked apprehensive. He smiled and squeezed her hand. They stood there together in front of their chairs, hand in hand, looking out over the men in the Hall. A good number of those men were rather obviously ogling his wife, but he saw more than a few staring pointedly at their joined hands. He knew his ever observant wife would notice that as well, and he held her hand more tightly lest she should feel compelled to take it away.

Stannis had escorted Roslin to her seat and now stood beside Ned, leaving an empty chair between himself and Roslin for Robb who had to escort his sister to the table just in front of them before coming to take his place. Lord Umber was the last to reach the high table after seeing Arya to her seat beside Sansa’s, and Ned had to give the man credit. He made a point of very graciously and publicly nodding to both Catelyn and Ned before he turned to face the assembled men.

Only Rickon and Bran had yet to reach their seats, and Ned swelled with pride at the sight of his second son determinedly wheeling his chair over the rough floor and his normally wildly impatient little third son matching his own pace to his brother’s slow progress. When at last the boys reached their seats next to two children Catelyn had informed him belonged to Howland Reed, Stannis Baratheon cleared his throat.

“Be seated,” he directed the room at large, and Ned assisted Catelyn into her seat before seating himself.

The room was nearly silent, and all eyes were turned toward the high table although Ned felt as many of them stared at Catelyn, himself, and Jon Umber as gazed upon the man standing next to him.

“As your king, I gratefully accept and acknowledge the fealty of House Stark and the North,” Stannis continued, and there was some sporadic cheering at this, primarily from Stannis’s men. Most simply waited to hear what else the king would say.

“As the men who rode here with me are already aware, and as Robb Stark tells me he has already informed the men here at Winterfell, I have by royal decree reinstated Eddard Stark as Lord of Winterfell.”

At this pronouncement, a much louder cheer went up, preventing Stannis from speaking for several minutes. The king looked annoyed, but Ned felt Catelyn’s hand squeeze his beneath the table and saw true joy on the faces of the assembled Northmen, so Stannis’s irritation troubled him not at all.

“This is known to you already!” Stannis shouted after a moment, raising his voice in an attempt to regain the attention of everyone in the Hall. “But there is more to be said!”

The cheers gradually quieted, and Stannis continued once more, looking as grim as if he were about to impart news of an impending execution. “Lord Stark was never a traitor to the rightful king, Robert Baratheon. His arrest was precipitated by his endeavors to expose the true nature of the queen’s unnatural relationship with her brother, and her treasonous behavior in passing off a bastard of incest as the rightful occupant of the Iron Throne upon my brother’s death.”

The enormous room was deathly silent now. “A bastard has no rights of inheritance,” Stannis said grimly, and Ned felt Catelyn tense beside him, and he knew she wondered what the man intended to say of Brynden. “My brother has no trueborn sons or daughters. As his only living brother, the Iron Throne passes to me. I did not ask for this, but I accept the responsibility that has come to me.”

The man’s blue eyes moved about the room as he continued speaking. “Lord Stark acknowledges the rightness of my claim and pledges the North to support it. In return I pledge to do all in my power to defend and support the North whenever it may be threatened.”

He paused again, and Ned felt his heart beating more intensely than normal. _Get to it already, Stannis._

“Further, in overturning Lord Stark’s conviction, I decree he was never legally bound to the Night’s Watch. His lands and title were never truly forfeit. Nor were any family ties, including that of his marriage to Lady Catelyn Tully.”

A small murmur ran through the room at that, and Ned laid his hand on Catelyn’s thigh. She was trembling. He chanced the slightest glance toward Jon Umber who sat so rigidly he could have been carved of marble.

“Unfortunately, the duplicitous actions of the Lannister imposter on the throne led to a series of events concerning that marriage which now must be addressed.” Stannis sounded extremely uncomfortable now, and Ned could actually hear him grinding his teeth before he continued.

“Lord Stark . . .visited . . .his wife in Winterfell once during his time with the Watch, and the child currently known as Brynden Umber was conceived.”

Ned looked toward Catelyn, and while he could still feel her trembling and see a faint blush in her cheeks, she did not look down. She did not lower her head or her eyes before the men who stared openly at her now. _Gods, she is magnificent._ He wanted badly to remove her from the Hall and from all the silent speculation that would no doubt become quite vocal as the evening progressed, but he could only sit there and keep his hand on her as a pledge to protect and defend her from any who would cause her harm.

“Lord Jon Umber agreed to take the Lady Catelyn to Last Hearth, posing as her husband, in order to protect the child and Lord Stark from any reprisals which could have resulted from the bastard in King’s Landing learning the boy’s true parentage. I need not even annul this nominal marriage as no true marriage ever took place, and the marriage of Lord Eddard Stark and Lady Catelyn Tully stands. The infant child who has been called Brynden Umber shall henceforth be known as Brynden Stark, trueborn fourth son of Lord Eddard Stark.”

Baratheon paused. _And Lady Catelyn,_ Ned thought angrily. _Trueborn son of Lord Eddard Stark and the Lady Catelyn._ Stannis had mentioned Catelyn no more than necessary. He had not even acknowledged her need for protection. _He blames her,_ Ned thought. _He needs my support. He needs my men. He will not dare insult me, but he feels no responsibility to shield Catelyn_ _from judgment._ He felt the anger building inside him, and suddenly his hand upon Catelyn’s thigh was gripped so tightly, it was almost uncomfortable. He turned to look at her, and saw the warning in her eyes. She knew he was angry, and she knew why. Her cheeks burned more now, and he could kill Stannis Baratheon for making her feel shamed in any way, but she was warning him to be still. It required a great deal of effort on his part, but he gave her an almost imperceptible nod and turned to glare out at the men who stared at his wife, silently defying any of them to even think unkindly about her.

Stannis sat down without another word, apparently satisfied that he had said what needed to be said. Amid the scattered mumblings spreading throughout the men at the tables below, Robb stood up. Ned looked at his son, and saw both anger and stubborn pride in his Tully blue eyes. Beside him, his little Frey wife looked visibly worried as she gazed up at him. _Careful,_ _Robb,_ Ned thought. _I understand your anger, but Cat is right. We cannot antagonize the man._

“Men of Winterfell!” his son called out in a strong, clear voice as different from Stannis Baratheon’s as day from night, “And guests . . .”

Ned’s mouth twitched involuntarily at the slightly disapproving tone with which Robb said _guests_. The openly speculative looks which Stannis’s men were giving both Catelyn and Jon Umber were far more obvious than anything on the faces of the Northmen. Robb did well to remind them of their status as guests in Winterfell, owing courteous respect to their hosts.

“We are very pleased to have you with us on this most joyous of nights,” Robb continued. “My lord father kindly gave me leave to speak to you as my heart is full, and I wished to share with you the great joy I have in celebrating my parents’ return to their rightful places and in hearing my brother Brynden called by his true name.”

There were affirming shouts from some of the Winterfell men at that, and Ned was grateful for them. He was most grateful and proud for the way Robb had said _parents’ return_ rather than simply _father’s return._ He would not allow any slight to his mother as Stannis Baratheon had.

“Lord Eddard and Lady Catelyn Stark have ruled Winterfell for well over fifteen years,” Robb continued. “No man in all the Seven Kingdoms is known to be more honorable than my lord father, and he has in my lady mother a wife who is worthy of him. Their marriage has given Winterfell six trueborn children, and for the first five, all manner of celebrations were held. Tonight we feast our good King Stannis, who came to the aid of the North when we were threatened from beyond the Wall. Yet, I also would like to feast Brynden Stark, yet another trueborn child of Winterfell born to our lord and lady--a blessing from the gods in a time when we had little else to be thankful for.”

Again, there were scattered shouts and cheers exclusively from the Northmen. Robb wasn’t finished, though, and he held up his hand. “There have been many brave Northern lords who have labored to bring us to this place--men who have labored long and in secret, at risk to themselves, in order to bring Winterfell its rightful lord and lady once more. Some of these men, oh! . . .and Lady Mormont . . .I mustn’t forget her!” There was genuine laughter at that. “Some have known of my brother Brynden from long before his birth, and they swore themselves to the protection of my lady mother and the unborn child of their liege lord. They helped us devise a plan to keep Mother and Brynden safely out of the eyes and hands of the Lannisters, and put their seals to sworn statements as to my brother’s true and honorable parentage long before my lady mother ever left Winterfell for Last Hearth.”

Robb had them listening to him intently now. Ned knew that having all of this recounted in a hall full of men was miserable for Catelyn, but it was far preferable to leaving things as Stannis Baratheon had.

“Above all, we must thank Lord Jon Umber,” Robb said then. “Lord Umber has shown more loyalty to House Stark than any other man I know. He agreed to shield both my mother and brother with his name, although no true marriage ever took place between my lady mother and himself. He took them to Last Hearth and guarded my mother’s honor and my brother’s life without any thought for himself until he could return them here to be reunited with my lord father and all of us.” Robb reached for the tankard on the table before him and lifted it up. “Raise your glasses, men of the North!” he shouted. “Raise your glasses to Lord Jon Umber, whose selfless and leal service to House Stark in our time of great need shall never be forgotten!”

While Ned knew that some of his Northmen remained quite confused over the events Robb has outlined in his little speech, none of them would remain seated when their lord asked them to raise a glass to one of their own. And Robb had been their lord for a good two years now. The men stood and shouted for Greatjon Umber with such enthusiasm that even a good number of Stannis’s men rose to their feet.

Ned stood himself, and turned to raise his glass toward Jon who sat on Catelyn’s other side. “My friend!” he said loudly enough to be understood over the din, at least by those near the front of the Hall. Jon Umber met his gaze for a moment, and then deferentially bowed his head.

Robb had done well, Ned thought. As well as could be done in such a situation as theirs. Stannis Baratheon had not risen from his seat, and so Ned could easily meet his son’s eyes over the man’s head. He nodded his approval to him and received a small smile in return. The boy _(Man!_ Ned mentally corrected himself. _He’s been to war, wed, fathered a babe and ruled as a High Lord._ _My son is no longer a boy._ ) had his mother’s gift for words, thank the gods.

As the men began to quiet down and take their seats once more, Ned remained standing. When most eyes were turned to him expectantly, he spoke. “I have little to add to the words of my king or my son,” he said gravely. “I only offer to every true Northman the gratitude of my lady wife and myself and my pledge that Winterfell shall ever stand strong for the North. To His Grace, Stannis Baratheon, and the men who have come with him to aid the North in our time of need, I offer Winterfell’s gratitude and hospitality.” He sat his own drink down on the table before him and raised his arms. “Now let us feast.”

The cheer which erupted from the hungry men at those words was easily the loudest yet heard, and Ned found himself smiling as he lowered himself back into his chair. Catelyn’s hand reached for his beneath the table as soon as he was seated, and he turned to look at her.

“Are you well, my love?” he asked her.

“I am seated in the Great Hall of Winterfell beside Lord Eddard Stark whom I just heard call me his lady wife before all those assembled.” Her blue eyes shone, but she smiled at him. “I am more than well, my lord.”

He wanted to respond to her then, to say something of her bravery, of her incomparable loyalty to him, of the fact that he wanted nothing so badly as to take her back to her chambers immediately--far from questions, judgments, and innuendos--and truly show her how badly he had missed her through every long day and night since she’d ridden away from Last Hearth. But he found his throat too tight to form even her name, so he only held to her hand and prayed she could see something of his thoughts in his eyes as he looked at her.

“Lord Stark.”

The somewhat irritated tone of Stannis Baratheon’s voice indicated to Ned that the man had likely repeated his name several times as he sat there looking at Catelyn. Reluctantly, he turned from his wife to look toward the king.

“Your Grace?” he responded courteously.

“I seem to recall you care for dancing even less than I,” Stannis said to him, “And surely Lady Stark’s ankle will prevent her from dancing in any case. I thought we could withdraw to your solar after we have our meal to discuss the calling of your banners and preparations to march toward King’s Landing.”

Ned stared at the man. Surely, he couldn’t be serious. Yet, he knew even as he thought it that Stannis Baratheon was always serious. “Your Grace,” he said respectfully, but firmly. “I have pledged you my support, and you shall have it. But any discussions can wait for the morrow. Tonight, I am home for the first time in a long while. I shall stay in my Hall as long as I like, and when I leave it, the only company I shall seek is that of my own lady wife.”

He realized he’d spoken more loudly than he intended when he saw Robb’s eyes widen over Stannis’s shoulder and heard a soft snorting sort of sound from Catelyn behind him. Stannis Baratheon only looked at him for a moment before saying, “As you wish, Lord Stark. After we break our fasts on the morrow, then.”

Ned sighed, imagining Stannis pounding on the door of Catelyn’s room if he did not appear in the Great Hall once more to break his fast by dawn, but merely nodded.

The food was excellent and plentiful, and it seemed the drink was even more plentiful. The men’s faces at the tables below became more flushed and their conversations louder and bawdier as the evening progressed. They groped at the serving girls and stared with open lust toward his wife and even toward his older daughter. That pleased him not at all.

Ned, himself, had very little to drink. He still could not be certain how all of the evening’s proclamations had been received by all of the men, and Catelyn deserved his full protection from any slight that might come her way. He was pleased to see that Robb drank little as well, and while the young man spent much of his time smiling and conversing with his pretty wife, his blue eyes regularly looked about the Hall watching the mood and actions of the men as well. _He truly is a lord,_ Ned thought, _whether or not he has the title now._

While three of the four men at the high table likely drank less all together than any other one man in the Hall, Jon Umber’s tankard was never left empty long. He drained his ale repeatedly and held the empty vessel up for the ever-present serving maids to refill. Catelyn tried to engage him in conversation a number of times throughout the meal, but he gave terse replies, glaring rather darkly out over the other men below them as if daring any of them to say an unkind word.

As the diners gradually had their fill, someone called for music, and musicians appeared. Ned watched his wife’s face as a song began, and he almost regretted that her ankle prevented him from asking her to dance. He would have liked very much to hold her in his arms and spin her around the floor before all these gawking men so that they might be reminded she was his. He would not have enjoyed the inevitable dances she spent in the arms of others, however, so his wistful regret was gone before it even fully formed.

As tables were pushed aside by laughing men, Robb rose and offered his hand to Roslin, leading her down to the floor. As if it that were a signal, three men nearly raced each other to where Sansa sat, and Ned nearly laughed out loud as Arya grabbed little Rickon’s hands and pulled him out on the floor before the man who had approached her had a chance to even speak. Rickon didn’t look overly pleased by the situation until he realized that Arya was more than willing to “dance” by spinning him as quickly as possible and then letting go of his hands to send him flying backward. As there was a definite shortage of ladies in the Hall, the boisterous men had soon engaged nearly all the serving girls in dancing.

In spite of his remaining worries, Ned found himself more content than he’d been in a great while, seated beside his wife, presiding over a celebration in his Hall, and watching his children and his men enjoy themselves.

“It is good, isn’t it?” Catelyn said quietly, and he turned to see that she was smiling at him. “Whatever else may come, it simply good to have all of us here together, my love.”

“It is,” he agreed. “I regret you cannot dance this evening, my lady. I know how you enjoy it.”

Her smile grew wider. “I would like to dance with you, my love, but I confess I am rather glad of a reason not to have to leave your side and dance with anyone else.”

Her words warmed him, and they watched the dancing silently for a bit. Robb now danced with Sansa as Roslin had come to sit down once more, hands resting on her rounded belly.

“Lady Catelyn!” a man called, and Ned saw one of Stannis’s soldiers standing just in front of their table looking up at his wife with slightly unfocused eyes. The man grinned and swayed slightly as he spoke. “It seems a shame for such a lovely lady to have two husbands and still no dance partner, my lady! Come and join me!”

Ned bristled and started to rise, but Catelyn’s hand pressed down upon his thigh to keep him seated.

“Hold your tongue, man, if ye wish to keep it!” Jon Umber growled.

Before the drunken soldier could process that he’d just been threatened, Catelyn quickly said, “I thank you for the invitation, good ser. Alas, my having to remain seated for the dancing is not the fault of my lord husband or Lord Umber. I fear I foolishly injured my ankle quite recently and won’t be doing any dancing tonight.” Her smile was dazzling, and the man seemed stunned into silence as he stared at her.

After a moment, he seemed to recover his wits, and said simply, “More’s the pity,” turning away after looking rather longingly at the top of her bodice.

“Catelyn . . .” Ned started to say once the man was gone, only to hear Jon Umber say, “My lady, he should not . . .” at the same time.

“Peace, both of you!” Catelyn hissed. “The man meant no harm. He wished to dance with me, and he thought he was being clever. Nothing more.”

Ned heard Umber grunt his disagreement and mutter something about fresh air. As he watched the big man rise from the table and walk away, he couldn’t help but be impressed by the steadiness of his gait after watching the amount of ale he had consumed.

“Lord Stark.”

Ned turned to his other side once more to see that Stannis Baratheon had risen from his seat. Quickly, he did the same. “Your Grace,” he said, bowing deferentially.

“I am rather tired after our long journey, and it has been a trying sort of day. I believe I shall retire so that I am well rested for our meeting tomorrow,” Baratheon said.

“Very well, Your Grace,” Ned replied.

“If you have need of anything in your room, Your Grace, you need only ask. Winterfell is at your disposal.” Catelyn had risen as well, and she spoke graciously, as the lady of the castle should.

“I thank you, Lady Stark,” Stannis told her, his blue eyes regarding her face carefully. It was the first time he had actually looked at her for any length of time since he’d decreed publicly that she was, in fact, still Lady Stark.

“No, Your Grace,” she told him. “It is I who thank you. What you have done this evening for us and our son . . .I shall be grateful to you always.”

The king didn’t smile, but Ned thought he saw just the slightest softening of his features. “I am pleased to have the members of House Stark in their rightful places at Winterfell,” he said finally.

“And on the morrow, we shall discuss how quickly we can see House Baratheon truly restored to the Iron Throne,” Ned offered.

Stannis nodded. “Enjoy your homecoming feast, Lord Stark,” he said softly. “Lady Stark,” he nodded to Catelyn as well before turning to go.

As he watched Robert’s ever solemn younger brother descend to the main floor of the Hall, Ned wondered if Stannis Baratheon would take pleasure in his own homecoming when it finally took place. The man sought the Iron Throne because he considered it his duty, but Ned found himself hoping this king might find some measure of joy in his reign as well. The gods knew Robert had found very little.

“King Stannis Baratheon!” he shouted, lifting his glass. “The first of his name!”

The music stopped rather abruptly, and the people in the Hall cheered loudly as their king made his way through them toward the door. Stannis acknowledged the cheers with slight nods of his head, and he turned when he reached the far end of the Hall to nod in farewell to Ned once more before he left.

“That was well done, my love,” Catelyn said, smiling as she sat down once more.

“Well, I’ve been watching you and Robb,” he said, giving her a half a smile.

She laughed, and then called down to Roslin, who now had two empty seats between her and Ned. “Come sit by us, Roslin! I won’t have my gooddaughter and grandchild left alone at our feast!”

Roslin smiled, and came to sit on the other side of Ned. She was a sweet girl, and the conversation was pleasant enough, but Ned honestly wished Catelyn hadn’t called her to them. He wanted his wife to himself. Surveying the Great Hall, he realized that Arya and Rickon had disappeared. Bran appeared to be having a quite animated conversation with the two Reed children. Robb was speaking with a small group of Winterfell men, and Sansa was dancing with . . .Jon Umber.

“Look!” he said, pointing it out to Catelyn. “I didn’t realize Jon had returned.”

“He came back just after Arya and Rickon left,” Catelyn told him. “Sansa is a dear, sweet girl. She went to him and asked him to dance with her as soon as she saw him come in.”

“When did Arya and Rickon leave?” Ned asked, wondering how so many comings and goings had occurred in such a short time and without his notice. “And where have they gone?”

“To fetch their wolves from the godswood and take them to the Great Keep. Remember, I told you Rickon wasn’t pleased about having to come to the feast without Shaggy. Not long after Stannis left, Arya caught my eye, pointed to Rickon and herself, and then pointed to the door. I knew what she wanted, so I nodded to her that they could go.”

Ned smiled at her. “I’d nearly forgotten how you well you . . .”

“Say it again!”

The shouted words reverberated off the walls of the Great Hall, and Ned turned to see Greatjon Umber holding a man up high against the wall by his throat.

“Say it again!” Umber shouted once more. “So that every man here will know why I kill you!”

“Jon!” Catelyn’s panicked cry came from just above him, and Ned realized his wife was on her feet.

“Stay here, Cat,” Ned growled, getting to his own feet and starting down toward the altercation.

“Ned!” she called after him, but he didn’t turn around. As he strode quickly to where Umber continued to hold the man aloft as easily as if he were a rag doll, he realized that Robb stood right beside him. Rather than making any attempt to intervene, Robb simply glared at the man whose face was going a sickly purple color, fury blazing in those Tully blue eyes he got from his mother. Sansa stood not far behind him, her shoulders shaking and tears streaming from her own Tully blue eyes. _What in hells has happened here? Did the man hurt my daughter?_

Men parted quickly before him, and he found himself standing beside Umber and Robb. “What goes on here, Jon?” he asked in a low, dangerous voice.

“This piece of filth dared utter the name of the Lady of Winterfell,” Umber growled, and it was clear to Ned that the man had said far more than Catelyn’s name.

“Put him down, Jon,” Ned said in the same icy tones, although he found himself wanting to beat the man senseless without even knowing what he’d said. Jon’s actions and the expression on Robb’s face told him all he needed to know.

“Put him down?” Greatjon shouted, turning to face Ned even as he kept his hands on the man’s throat. “By the gods, Stark, if you won’t defend her honor, I bloody well will!”

The fury which had been building within Ned toward the man who’d somehow insulted his wife now released itself against Jon Umber. “You will do as I say in my Hall!” he shouted. “I am your liege lord, and you will heed my words, Jon Umber.”

The bigger man glared furiously at him, but he did relax his grip on the man he held, allowing him to slide down the wall gasping for breath. “And I do not need you or anyone else to defend my lady wife’s honor,” Ned growled then. “No one shall speak ill of the Lady Catelyn here and not answer to me.”

“I don’t need either of you to defend my honor, for I’ve done nothing to call it into question.” Catelyn’s voice, breathless and angry, came from behind him, and Ned whirled around. She stood there, leaning against the wall and nearly panting for breath. Her expression was a mixture of fear, anger, and physical pain. He realized she must have nearly hopped on one foot from the high table as her crutch had been left in the entryway with her cloak.

“Cat,” he breathed. “I told you to stay.”

“I told you both not to do this,” she whispered fiercely, and he realized she was expending a great deal of effort not to cry.

“Mother,” Robb said, in a tight, angry voice, speaking for the first time. “You should sit down. And this man should be publicly whipped and sent from the castle.”

“This man is a guest,” she hissed. “A soldier of our king’s.”

“He is no man at all, my lady,” Jon Umber insisted. “He is a cockless worm who should be stepped on and forgotten.”

“Well, no one is likely to forget him now, Jon,” she said sharply, her blue eyes blazing. “The two of you have seen to that well enough.”

Ned noticed then that the music no longer played. The Hall was filled with people all staring toward their little group with avid curiosity. Bitterly, he remembered the promise he and Jon had both made to Catelyn only hours before. _Forgive me, my love._

“Sansa,” he said, looking toward his daughter. “Go and get your mother’s crutch. Robb, have someone escort your mother and sister back to the Great Keep.” Before Catelyn could protest, Ned turned toward her. “You were just telling me that our son would need to be fed soon, were you not?” He put extra emphasis on the words ‘our son’ as he knew every man in the Hall was listening to him.

She looked at him a moment. “Yes, my lord,” she said softly. “But the feast needn’t be ended on my account.”

“No,” he agreed. Turning to the room at large, he said clearly. “I apologize for the disturbance. This man has obviously had too much to drink and it has made him discourteous. As I can accept no such discourtesy in my Hall, we shall escort him from it. Do not allow him to interfere with our celebrations, however. This is a very good day for Winterfell and the North.”

There was silence for a moment, but the gawkers realized they had been dismissed and started shuffling away. The musicians began playing again even as Ned turned to Umber to say, “Pick him up, and let’s get him out of here.”

Sansa was hurrying back with Catelyn’s crutch, and she had two Winterfell soldiers in tow. Ned turned to look at Catelyn, and the hurt in her eyes was more than he could stand. He wanted to say something, wanted to ask her forgiveness, wanted to erase that hurt. But he only said, “I will come to you soon, my lady.”

She nodded, and he supposed he should count himself fortunate that she didn’t tell him to stay away.

“Do not let her put any weight on her ankle,” he admonished the men who’d arrived with Sansa to walk her back to her chambers.

The men acknowledged his instruction, and he turned to see Robb and Jon Umber walking out of the Hall with the southron soldier slung over Umber’s shoulder like some sort of baggage. Setting his jaw into a hard line, he followed them out.

Robb directed Lord Umber to carry the man behind the Great Hall where the Greatjon dumped him into the snow against the inner wall of the castle. The man wasn’t unconscious, but he appeared to have the good sense to stay down.

“What did you say of my lady wife?” Ned demanded as he reached them.

The man made no response, and Ned kicked at him. “Answer me!” he shouted.

“I didn’t mean anything, my lord!” the man blubbered. “I don’t know what I said. It was the drink!”

Frustrated, Ned turned to Robb, but his son only shook his head. “I will not repeat it, Father. Do not ask me.” Robb’s face was hard, but his eyes were nearly as expressive as his mother’s, and Ned saw the pain and anger in them clearly enough.

“By the gods, Robb, was it so terrible as that?” he asked him.

Robb pursed his lips. “It started with Sansa,” he said.

“Sansa?” Ned cried out in surprise and alarm, recalling his daughter’s tears in the Great Hall.

“She was dancing with Lord Jon,” Robb said, “and I heard this man say to his friend--Mayhap Lord Stark will give the girl to Lord Umber. She looks enough like the woman he’s giving up, and she’s young enough to last longer.”

Robb spoke through gritted teeth, and his words hit Ned like a punch in the gut. “Sansa heard this?”

Robb shook his head. “We were a bit away from Sansa and Lord Umber then. I should have thrown the man out on his ear then, but I remembered the promise I made to Mother.”

Jon Umber grunted derisively at that, and Ned held up his hand to silence him. The Lord of Last Hearth went back to looking daggers at the terrified man on the ground.

“I told him to hold his tongue,” Robb continued. “I told him that he was speaking of Lady Sansa of House Stark, and that I would hear no discourteous words about my sister or my lady mother. He apologized, and I left him there.”

Ned looked from Robb to Jon Umber. Obviously, there was more to this story. He bent over the man on the ground, and pulled him up to stand by his jacket. Even in the moonlight, he could see the bruises on his neck where Jon had nearly throttled him. “On your feet,” he growled, although he allowed the man to lean on the wall. “You should be tossed from the castle walls for that comment alone. My son showed you great leniency. How did you repay it?” The man stared at him, wide eyed. “How did you repay it?” he shouted.

“By asking me to tell him what your wife looks like between her legs!” Jon Umber spat, and Ned looked up at the man in horrified disbelief.

“Aye,” Jon said grimly. “He walked right up to me as I danced with your daughter, and asked if the Lady Catelyn was fiery in bed because he’d heard that women with hair that color were hot blooded. He actually grinned at your daughter as he said it. And then he asked me if the hair between her mother’s legs was the same color as that on her head. Do ye still want me to leave him alone, Stark?”

Ned could barely hear Umber’s voice by that point. He couldn’t see or hear anything except the face of the man now cowering against the wall--the face of the man who’d dared to speak such filth about his wife, and in front of his daughter. His fist smashed into the man’s face before he even realized he’d thrown the punch. His second punch connected with the man’s gut, and he doubled over and fell to the ground.

Ned stood over him breathing heavily and trying to make his mind function again. He wanted the man dead. He wanted to rip him apart with his bare hands. He was seconds away from diving upon him and putting his hands around that already bruised throat when he heard Robb’s voice.

“Father! Father!”

Ned blinked and took a deep breath. “Lock him up, Robb,” he said gruffly. “Lock him up and set a guard on him. He’s Stannis’s man, so I’ll keep him here until I can tell Stannis what he’s done. But whatever else the king may want to do with him, this is the last night he’ll spend in my castle. One way or the other, he goes from here on the morrow.”

“That’s it?” Umber asked him, his voice filled with angry disbelief. “That’s all you intend to do?”

“Would you have me kill him, Jon?” Ned snapped.

“Yes!” Umber shouted. “I’d see him dead before I’d ever hear him say her name again.” The passion in the man’s voice was obvious, and Ned realized just how correct Catelyn had been in worrying that Jon’s eagerness to leap to her defense could do more harm than good. He was glad no one stood near them now except Robb.

“I would be more than content to see him dead as well, Jon,” he said, forcing himself to speak quietly and calmly. “But Catelyn would not. And I would not put the death of this worthless excuse for a man on her conscience. She is infinitely more important to me than this miserable cur.”

Umber looked at him a moment as if he had more to say, but then he simply turned on his heel and stalked off silently in the direction of the Great Keep. Ned hoped he was going to his room because he feared the two of them would come to blows once more if the man showed up in Catelyn’s chambers.

“I will see to locking him up, Father,” Robb said then. “And I’ll go back to the Hall. Roslin is still there. And Bran.”

“Bran . . .” Ned said. He’d completely forgotten his second son had still been present in the Great Hall when the altercation had taken place. Guiltily, he thought he should go and find him, but the need to see Catelyn was nearly overwhelming.

“I’ll see to Bran,” Robb said softly. “He has grown quite close to Roslin, Father. We’ll see that he’s well. Go to Mother.”

Ned looked into his son’s eyes and saw an understanding that he did not expect. Once again, he was struck by how much his son truly had become a man during his long absence. Wordlessly, he nodded his gratitude and turned toward the Great Keep. Only the desire to salvage some portion of his promise to Catelyn by not drawing further attention to himself kept him from running.

He knocked at the door of her chamber as he always did, but pushed it open without waiting for her to answer. She was seated in a large chair with Brynden in her arms, and her blue eyes looked up at him with apprehension when he entered. He swallowed as he looked at her. She was so beautiful holding their son.

“Where’s Sansa?” he asked after a moment.

“I sent her to her room. I . . .I knew you would come here, and I wasn’t certain . . .”

“I didn’t kill him,” he said flatly, and the relief in her eyes was unmistakable. “You feared I would,” he said then.

She bit her lip. “Sansa . . .told me.” Her voice trembled slightly. “What he said, I mean.” She closed her eyes against the tears that were forming in them. “My gods, Ned,” she whispered. “In front of our daughter. I hadn’t imagined anything quite that terrible.”

He went to her then, wanting to hold her, to take away the pain she felt. He would have kept the man’s words from her if he could.

“Brynden’s asleep,” she whispered to him. “Take him and put him in his cradle for me.”

He reached out and gently took his sleeping son from her arms, kissing the babe’s sweet little head before he laid him in the cradle. When he turned back around, she was standing up, leaning to keep her weight on her uninjured ankle. He walked quickly to her, and she grabbed his right hand, bringing it up to inspect his knuckles.

“You hit him,” she said.

“Aye. Twice. But a blow to the belly doesn’t bruise the hand, so this one’s all right,” he said, holding up his left. “I am sorry I could not keep my word to you, my lady.”

“I’m glad you hit him,” she said firmly, and Ned raised his eyebrows.

“Our baby, Ned. He spoke such filth for our baby girl to hear.” Her voice broke then, and he put his arms around her, drawing her to him.

As he held her tightly against him, he recalled Stannis Baratheon’s relative disinterest in protecting Catelyn, the lustful stares she’d received from so many men in the Hall, Jon Umber’s fury over her which had rivaled his own. Suddenly he felt compelled to show her that he would protect her from anyone who threatened her, and that she was his to protect.

He turned her face up to his and brought his lips down onto hers far more forcefully than he normally did. She breathed in sharply, and he thought she might pull away, but she only put her hands on the sides of his face, holding him to her and opening her lips to his with an eagerness to match his own. He felt as if he couldn’t possibly be close enough to her. He couldn’t touch her enough to satisfy his need for her. The desire he’d felt when he’d first brought her into the Great Keep earlier today returned full force, now magnified by his jealousy over Jon Umber and his rage at the man who’d dared to slander her so terribly.

The laces on the front of her bodice were already loosened where she’d been nursing Brynden before he came into the room, and he had her breasts freed from confinement and displayed before him in very little time at all. As soon as he put his mouth on one of her nipples, her breath caught and she pushed herself against him in a way that caused his cock to strain even more painfully against his breeches than it already had. He put one hand on her arse, pulling her so tightly against him, he knew she could feel his need of her plainly enough.

He released her nipple from his mouth and raised his head to look at her. Her pupils were so large, her blue eyes looked nearly black as she gazed back at him, want of him clearly written across her features, her breasts rising and falling as she panted for breath. “Mine,” he growled at her, thinking that he sounded almost angry. “You are mine, Cat,” he told her, trying to soften his voice, but finding it hard to speak at all through his ragged breathing.

“I am yours,” she agreed breathlessly. “Only yours. You know that, Ned.” Her eyes seemed to search his then, seeking confirmation that he did indeed believe that she belonged solely to him.

At a loss for words and rapidly losing his ability for coherent thought, he sought to answer her the one way he knew best, putting his lips to hers once more. She gave a tiny little cry and pulled him into her, only to lose her balance and stumble backward toward the wall. Ned extended one of his arms behind her to keep her from falling into the wall, and then allowed her to lean against that wall as he dropped to his knees and began to push up her skirts.

She helped him with that task eagerly enough when she realized what he was about, and soon she was holding her skirts bunched around her waist as he dragged her smallclothes down, only to rip them in two when he realized her injured ankle would make it difficult for her to step out of them. When he beheld the lovely triangle of bright copper at the junction of her thighs, he had a brief instant of renewed rage that any man would even think about this, much less speak of it, for this view of Cat was his alone. He put his mouth to her then, claiming her as much as pleasuring her, and he took a fierce, possessive kind of joy in every sound she made and in every tremble of her body.

“Ned,” she gasped after awhile. “I can’t . . .I can’t stand . . .any longer.” Whether she meant that she was unable to stand on her injured leg any longer or that she couldn’t stand any more of what he was doing to her, he didn’t know. He stood then, and as soon as he was upright, she hooked the injured leg around his hip, and began working at the laces of his breeches.

As soon as she had his cock free, she ran her hand over the length of it, and it was his turn to gasp. “Cat,” he said. “I’m afraid I can’t wait.”

“Then don’t,” she whispered into his neck as she pushed the tip of his cock toward her own slick sex.

“Oh gods,” he uttered, realizing what she wanted of him. He grabbed her firmly by the hips then, raising her off the floor. She wrapped her other leg around him then and allowed him to press her back against the wall. “Are you certain?” he breathed, wanting desperately to thrust himself into her right then, but not wanting to hurt her.

In answer, she grabbed at her skirts, making sure they were well out of his way, and then reached for his cock again, guiding herself onto it as she moved her hips in a circular motion in his hands. As she took all of him inside her, the sensation was so overwhelming he had to concentrate hard on remaining standing and keeping a firm enough grip on her to hold her up. He stood very still for a moment, and then he began to move, thrusting into her at first with some care not to drive her back into the wall with too much force, and then with complete abandon as he lost himself within her. _You are mine,_ he thought. _My wife. And none shall take you from me ever again._

When he finally spilled himself inside her, they both cried out, and then she lay her head on his shoulder, as he held her up against the wall. He ignored the trembling of his own legs as he enjoyed the sensation of the little tremors still running through her body as the storm of their passion finally calmed. He didn’t realize he had actually started shaking until he heard her laugh softly.

“You had better put me down before you drop me, my love.”

“I will never let you fall, Cat,” he assured her, but he slowly lowered her to the ground anyway. She leaned against the wall while he bent to pull up his breeches.

“You might as well take them off,” she said with a smile, “unless you intend to sleep in boots and breeches. We are going to bed, aren’t we?”

“We are,” he replied with a smile of his own. “I only wish to make myself able to walk well enough to get you there, my lady. Then I’ll take time to disrobe appropriately.”

She laughed more loudly then, a musical sound that made his heart feel very light. “I don’t remember the last time we did this with all our clothes still on,” she said, as he helped her to sit on the edge of her bed.

“I do,” he said, as he sat beside her and pulled off his boots before removing his doublet. “The day before Robert arrived in Winterfell.

She had removed her dress already, and now she paused in the act of pulling her shift up to look at him blankly.

“In the solar,” he said helpfully. “While we were waiting for Vayon to come and discuss the welcoming feast with us. Do you remember?”

He knew when she did. Her blue eyes widened, and her face blushed crimson. “Oh gods,” she said. “He very nearly walked in on us. And I spent the entire conversation with the man terrified that he knew precisely what we’d been doing.”

Ned waited until she had the shift off to say, “Oh, he did, my love. He was simply far too courteous ever to let on.”

He was rewarded for his remark as he’d hoped, as the blush from her cheeks extended downward to areas previously hidden from view. “You are beautiful, Cat,” he told her.

To his surprise, she looked at him sadly, even apologetically. “I am sorry you had to hear such shameful words spoken about your wife, my lord. I wish that this would be the end of it, but I fear that . . .”

“Hush,” he told her. “You are not to apologize for the faults of others. You did not bring this upon us, my lady. You bear none of the blame. I will hear no apologies from you. Do you understand?”

She bit her lip and nodded. Then she watched him silently as he finished undressing and got up to extinguish the candles.

“I love you, Ned,” she said as he returned to the bed and pulled her into his arms.

He sighed and kissed the top of her head, breathing in the scent of her beautiful hair. He dreaded many things about the morrow, and he feared she was all too correct about the slanders still to come her way. Yet, he knew that he would willingly face any trial ahead of them just to hold her like this once more and hear her say those words.


	17. Catelyn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am VERY sorry for the inexcusably long time between updates. Between other fics and real life craziness, this story got put on the backburner for a bit. But it is very much NOT abandoned, and while I can't promise the next update will be super quick, it won't be over 2 months!!
> 
> Once again, all the characters here are the brilliant creations of GRRM, and I own nothing. :)

Sunlight was streaming into Catelyn’s bedchamber as she rolled over and stretched lazily, yet Brynden slept on. She smiled fondly in the direction of his cradle. While he’d been making it through most nights without needing her to feed him for some time, this was easily the longest he’d ever slept. Her breasts were uncomfortably full, and she thought she would have to wake him soon for her own relief.

Instead of rising immediately, however, she snuggled down beneath the furs on her bed once more, inhaling the scent of her husband which lingered there. That caused her skin to tingle with the memory of how they had passed the night, waking twice to make love even after they had all but devoured each other against the wall of her room. How Brynden had remained asleep through all of that was truly a mystery.

She’d remarked as much to Ned when he’d risen this morning to peer into the cradle and assure himself that his son still breathed, and he’d laughed. “Perhaps it is the contentment of having both his parents and his true name restored to him which gives him such good rest, my love.” The joy on his face had been beautiful to behold, and she’d beckoned him back to her bed in order to demonstrate her love for him once more before he dressed to go to the Great Hall. Both of them had been more than willing to risk Stannis Baratheon’s disapproval for another few moments in each other’s arms.

He had left her after that, though, and she’d felt something of a craven for not joining him. In truth, she had no desire to face anyone in the castle this morning after the events which had led to her departure from the feast, but she had no wish to hide either. Winterfell was her home, and she would not be made a prisoner there in any fashion.

Ned had asked her to remain within, however. He wanted to gauge the mood in the castle himself and respond to any immediate inquiries regarding the events of last night without her present. She knew he hadn’t told her all the details regarding what occurred with Jon, Robb, and himself when they’d taken that man from the Hall, but she knew he’d had the man locked up in preparation to turn him over to Stannis for discipline. The joy she’d seen in his face as he regarded their son and then held her in her bed had gone completely from his countenance as he contemplated the day ahead of him, and she had decided to acquiesce to his wishes rather than cause him more distress.

“You will send for me at some point, though, won’t you?” she’d asked him. “It will appear as if something is amiss if I am absent all day.”

“Of course, my lady.” He’d bent to kiss her softly and then had offered her a small smile. “But I don’t give a damn about appearances. I’ll have you come to me because I don’t think I’ll make it through this bloody day without you, Cat.”

“You needn’t make it through any days without me, my love,” she’d responded, but the words had caused her to catch her breath even as she spoke them for surely Stannis Baratheon would have him marching southward as soon as he could call his banners, and then they would be spending days, weeks, and long moons apart once more. Merely thinking on it threatened to reduce her to tears.

Her thoughts were interrupted now by a demanding wail from the cradle. Apparently her son had awakened from his long slumber to find himself ravenous, and she rose from her bed, gingerly testing the bad ankle and shrugging herself into her robe before lifting him from the cradle. He was old enough now to extend his arms to her, and she smiled as his little fists grabbed on to her hair as she raised him up. “You do take after your father,” she laughed as she sat down and tried to detach his fingers from her tangled hair so that she could get him to her teat. “He’s the reason my hair is in this state, Brynden Stark.” 

_Brynden Stark._ How lovely it sounded to her ears. She had, of course, thought of him as such since his birth, but even when alone she had hesitatated to speak it aloud for fear of the wrong ears hearing. Now, she wanted to shout it loudly and frequently to everyone. 

“Brynden Stark,” she repeated as her son suckled greedily. “Whatever men may say of you or of me, you will know your name. You will know who you are and never doubt it. Your father and I will see to that.”

A knock came at her door then, and she called out in answer.

“It’s Elin, my lady.” 

“Come in, Elin,” she replied.

The maid came into the room carrying a small tray with food upon it. “Lord Stark bid me bring you food, my lady. He asked that you join him and King Stannis and Lord Robb in his solar after you’ve eaten, but I’m to tell you not to hurry.”

Catelyn smiled at her. “Thank you, Elin. You can put the tray on the table there. Brynden is nearly finished, I think.”

“Shall I stay and help you dress, my lady? And . . .comb out your hair?” 

The girl tried to hide her smile as she said the last, but Catelyn noted it all the same. She hadn’t looked in her glass this morning, but she knew well enough how her hair likely looked. Her robe was open at the top as well, and recalling the previous night, she thought it quite possible she might have a couple bruises near the base of her neck. She felt her cheeks color, but she simply said, “Yes, Elin. I would appreciate the assistance.”

A fairly short time later, she stood surveying herself in her looking glass and decided she looked quite respectable. Her hair had required quite a bit of combing, and she feared she’d yelped as loudly as Arya on one or two occasions when Elin had pulled the comb through particularly stubborn knots, but it was perfectly neat now, braided into a simple Northern style. She had found a small purple mark just above her collar bone, but had chosen a dress which covered it completely. She would give Stannis Baratheon no reason to find fault with her.

Elin had taken the babe out already. As well as Brynden was sleeping, it was time to get him accustomed to the nursery, especially now that her husband would be sharing her room again at least in the near future. She’d ask the maid to take him there and to ask the other children if they wished to come and play with him, and then to keep him there for his morning nap. Letting her babes move from her room always caused her a small pain in her heart, but with Brynden, in particular, she wanted no one to be able to say she was keeping him hidden away in her chambers now.

Her ankle pained her still when she walked, but it was improving, and she had it bound tightly which gave her some relief. She walked with an obvious limp, but she could at least stand straight up, bearing at least a good portion of her weight on the injured leg. Satisfied with her reflection, she turned to leave her room, but when she opened the door into the corridor, she nearly collided with Jon Umber.

“Jon!” she gasped as he put a hand on her arm to steady her. “What are you doing here?”

“I . . .You didn’t come to the Great Hall to break your fast. I wanted to be certain you were all right.”

Catelyn sighed, realizing that the last thing she needed to be doing right now was standing in the doorway to her chambers with the man she now needed everyone to know had never been her husband. “I’m fine, Jon,” she said firmly. “But you cannot be here.”

His face darkened slightly at that. “I had to know you were well. After what happened last night . . .”

“You mean after you and my husband created that scene in the Great Hall?”

“Catelyn. You do not know what . . .” His voice had gotten slightly louder with his agitation and she held up her hand to silence him and turned to close the door to her chamber behind her.

“Walk with me,” she said. “If we are seen conversing, it should not be anywhere near my chambers.” She began walking in the direction of Ned’s solar. “And I do know what the man said. Sansa told me. And he deserved the fists my lord husband served him.”

“He deserved . . .”

“But . . .” she interrupted him, stopping and turning to face him near the staircase and speaking in a low voice, “What you did in the Great Hall was entirely inappropriate.”

“How can you . . .”

“Do not raise your voice like that,” she hissed at him. “Do you want another audience like you had last night?” She sighed. “I am unhappy with the both of you for your behavior during the feast--not that you called the man out, but that you did it in so public and violent a fashion.”

“No man shall question your honor in front of me and live, Catelyn,” Jon said quietly, but with conviction.

She looked at him sadly. “My honor is not yours to defend, Jon. And you must stop behaving as if it is.”

“You are the Lady of Winterfell, wife to my liege lord,” he protested. “Surely, I . . .”

“Surely you will take exception to insults toward me. Yes. You could not have let that pass, my lord. Especially with my daughter right there. I don’t deny that. You should have brought him to Ned.”

“Ned? Ned is . . .”

“My lord husband. My honor is his to defend, whether you think he does it well or poorly. You cannot continue to behave as you did last night unless you wish everyone here to believe you’ve been bedding me all this time.”

“Catelyn! I would never . . .”

“You would never seek to do that intentionally, I know. Yet, I saw you in the Great Hall last night, Jon. I saw a man incensed at an insult to his lady. And so did everyone else in that Hall. Including my husband.”

She looked at him for a long moment then, meeting his eyes and refusing to look away in spite of the pain she saw in them. He had to understand this. Brynden’s future, Ned’s status in the eyes of his bannermen, even her own position as Lady of Winterfell once Ned left were more important than Jon Umber’s hurt feelings. That was cruel, perhaps, but it was true. Too many things threatened the North now for the people to harbor misgivings about House Stark.

“I should leave,” he said flatly.

“No. Stannis Baratheon is meeting with Ned and Rob now. That is where I’m going. Likely he’ll demand that Ned call the banners and march to war with the Lannisters. You cannot leave now.”

“And what of the monsters to the North? You know where Last Hearth is well enough, my lady. How am I to take all my men south after what your lord husband told us of things beyond the Wall?”

Catelyn felt her head begin to pound. Jon’s worry in this was entirely justified and one that Ned shared. “I do not know,” she said softly. “But that is why you must remain here, my lord. My lord husband will require your counsel in this matter. He does not intend to allow Stannis to leave the North entirely vulnerable. The man’s own wife and child are at the Wall now, after all.”

Jon looked at her for a long moment without saying anything.

“You must be his bannerman now, Jon,” she said in a softer, gentler voice. “You must be the friend to him that you always have been. And you must not think of me.”

He laughed bitterly at that. “I shall endeavor to be a leal bannerman, my lady. But to not think of you?” He looked directly at her and although they were not touching, Catelyn felt the intensity of his gaze as deeply as if he had physically grabbed her. “You might as well bid me not to breathe.”

She willed herself not to cry, but felt her eyes water all the same. “I hate hurting you. You know that.”

“Aye,” he said gruffly. “It doesn’t change anything, does it?” He looked away for a moment and then said. “Tell Lord Stark I’m at his disposal if he wishes to discuss the defense of the North or any of Stannis Baratheon’s plans. I’ll likely be in my room or in the stables until the midday meal.”

Without saying anything else, he left her then and walked in the opposite direction of Ned’s solar. 

Catelyn rubbed her temples and continued on her way to join her husband, son, and king in their meeting while wishing devoutly that she and Ned could have simply remained in her bed all day. She wondered if they were ever to have any lasting joy again even with Ned’s restored title and their publicly restored marriage. _Please gods,_ she prayed. _Let us find our way through this. Keep all of us safe, and bring us back to peace and contentment._ She included Jon Umber in her prayers. She wanted nothing but happiness for him, but he had to accept that she could offer him none.

She knocked on the door of Ned’s solar and heard his deep voice respond with the single word, “Enter.” Her heart gave a flutter which nearly erased all her dark thoughts and fears and worries. How many times had she heard him utter that word through this doorway? Hundreds? Thousands? It was the most natural sound in the world in this particular place, and yet it now seemed like a miraculous gift from the gods, and she found herself tempted to knock again just to hear it repeated.

She opened the door instead, and the smile that lit Ned’s face when he saw her was better than the sound of his voice. He sat at his desk with both Robb and Stannis seated across from him, and he stood as he bid her welcome. 

“My lady,” he said formally as she walked into the room.

Robb immediately stood as well and greeted her with a smile although there was obvious tension in his face. “Mother,” he said.

Stannis was the slowest to rise and his face showed a general sense of irritation along with obvious surprise at her arrival. “Lady Stark,” he said courteously enough. “Is there something we can do for you?”

“I asked Lady Catelyn to join us here, Your Grace,” Ned said quickly before Catelyn could reply. Obviously he hadn’t mentioned that to the man before now.

“For what purpose, Lord Stark?” Stannis asked him.

Catelyn bit back a retort. _He is the king. Do not forget yourself, Catelyn Stark._

“We are discussing going to war, Your Grace,” Ned said calmly. “We face potential foes to the north and south. It is likely that both Robb and I shall need to leave Winterfell, and in such case, Lady Catelyn will rule here in my stead. She must be a part of this discussion.”

Stannis did not look pleased, but he merely nodded, and Catelyn seated herself beside Ned. The men took their seats once more as well in order to continue their conversation.

“Robb has been filling us in on what you have learned about events in King’s Landing and in the Iron Islands, my lady,” Ned told her then.

“We only learned of Balon’s death and Euron’s intentions after arriving back to Winterfell, my lord. And we have not heard anything further.”

“Yet you warned Tyrell about it,” Stannis said dourly. “Your son has confessed as much.”

“Confessed?” Catelyn asked, arching a brow. “Confession would indicate some wrongdoing, Your Grace. My son made a rather astute tactical maneuver. I assume you would like to take Dragonstone back? It will be defended far more lightly if Mace Tyrell calls the Redwyne fleet back to defend his own shores against reavers.”

She did not miss that both Ned and Robb looked slightly downward then, attempting to hide their smiles.

“Be that as it may, my lady, the Tyrells remain our enemies as much as the Greyjoys,” Stannis insisted. “This business with your daughter and Mace Tyrell’s son . . .”

“A betrothal,” she snapped. “The only thing between our daughter and Willas Tyrell is a betrothal which shall likely be broken the moment anyone in King’s Landing learns that Lord Stark has officially joined you in armed opposition to Tommen Baratheon. By simply allowing Willas Tyrell to come here, we learned a great deal more about what occurs in King’s Landing and about the motivations and mindset of several of the key players than we would know otherwise. In exchange, we gave him precisely two bits of information--the news about the impending raids in the Reach and word of your presence at the Wall. His knowing of the raids benefits us if it causes the Redwyne fleet to withdraw from Dragonstone, and your presence in the North is hardly a secret. So how did this _business_ benefit our enemies rather than ourselves, Your Grace?”

Stannis Baratheon simply stared at her for a moment until Ned said quietly, “You and Robb did extremely well in this, my lady, and I would like to discuss Dragonstone now.”

Stannis turned his attention toward her husband then. “What about it, Lord Stark?”

“Lord Manderly maintains a reasonable fleet in White Harbor at most times, and when I first had reason to suspect wrongdoing on the part of the Lannisters upon my arrival to King’s Landing, I had my lady wife instruct him to fortify both his fleet and his defenses. I believe what ships you still have are at Eastwatch are they not?”

Stannis nodded, although his jaw tightened at the phrase “what ships you still have.” His defeat at Blackwater had been devastating. 

“I believe our men should march for White Harbor rather than south through Moat Cailin, Your Grace. Send word to Eastwatch to have your ships sail there as well. From White Harbor we can sail first to Runestone in the Vale.”

“Runestone? What is in Runestone? Gulltown is just to the south of it, and it is an actual port where men and supplies might be procured,” Stannis said.

“I am hopeful Yohn Royce is in Runestone, Your Grace. It is his seat. I would hope to have the Vale with us in this endeavor, and if my goodsister’s words to my lady wife were true, they have good reason to join us.”

“What words?”

Ned looked at Catelyn, and she answered the king’s question. “When your late brother the king arrived in Winterfell to ask my lord husband to be his hand, I received a message from my sister, Lady Arryn, concealed and written in such a way that only I would understand. She accused the Lannisters of murdering Lord Arryn.”

Stannis narrowed his eyes, but he did not give any indication of shock or surprise. “And what has Lady Arryn to say of things now?” he asked. “Have you communicated with her concerning your efforts here on Lord Stark’s behalf?”

Catelyn willed herself to keep her emotions in check as she replied, “My sister has not answered any correspondence from me since I left her in the Eyrie over two years ago, Your Grace. I know not what goes through her mind, and I fear that her mind is not as clear as it should be. She was . . .not the woman I remembered when I went there seeking justice upon Tyrion Lannister.”

“I have sent letters to Lord Royce over the past year,” Robb said then, surprising Catelyn. She had not known about this. “He has replied, but he says little except that Lady Arryn is steadfast in her desire to keep the Vale out of conflict. Something about those letters, though . . .”

“My son does not believe Lord Royce speaks freely in his letters, Your Grace,” Ned put in. “Something is afoot in the Vale, and I know not what it is. But I believe we would be wise to discover it before we push on to King’s Landing in force. In any event, Lord Royce is a man of honor and a friend. He would tell us true whether or not it is safe for us to stop in Gulltown on our way to Dragonstone.”

“You mean for us to sail on Dragonstone then?” Stannis asked him.

“That is my counsel, yes. First take back what has been taken from you. Show the lords of the Seven Kingdoms you are not defeated. From Ser Garlan’s letters to his brother here we know that the power in King’s Landing is unsettled to say the least. A strong victory on your part could gain you more supporters before you take the fight once more to King’s Landing.”

Stannis appeared to consider this carefully. “Supporters like Lord Tully?” he asked.

“Edmure will support you,” Catelyn said without hesitation. “He has no reason to love the Lannisters at all, Your Grace. But the Riverlands bled when Tywin Lannister unleashed his monster Clegane on them. He cannot put his people at risk without a solid plan for the defense of his lands.”

“Would he wait until victory is assured as Tywin Lannister did when my brother fought the dragons?” Stannis asked.

Ned actually put a hand on her then, knowing that she would not suffer her brother being compared to Tywin Lannister easily.

“Of course not, Your Grace,” he said quickly before Catelyn could speak. “But my goodbrother is not a fool. To declare allegiance to you with no immediate plan of attack would simply invite the Lannisters to raid throughout his lands once more. You know as well as I that the borders of the Riverlands are virtually indefensible. When we move on King’s Landing, Lord Tully will be with us.”

“We shall start with Dragonstone then,” Stannis agreed. “I shall send word to Eastwatch to have my ships sail to White Harbor. Lord Manderly’s reply to our announcement of your reinstatement as Lord was most enthusiastic. Are you certain we can depend upon him, my lord?”

“I am,” Ned said without hesitation. “We shall send out letters to all the northern Houses now, telling them that both the Lord and Lady of Winterfell are restored and that the North stands with Stannis Baratheon, the one true King of Westeros.”

Ned’s words were firm, and Catelyn watched Stannis Baratheon nod ever so slightly as he spoke them. “What of your own lands and their defenses, Lord Stark?” he asked then. “In terms of the Lannisters and their allies, I mean. I do not yet speak of your snow monsters.”

Catelyn didn’t miss the slight derision in his tone when he spoke of “snow monsters.” Stannis had come to the Wall and fought against wildlings, but while he had heard plenty about Others and wights, he had not seen any himself, and he remained somewhat skeptical about them.

Ned heard it, too, but chose to ignore it. “My lands are far more defensible to the south than Lord Tully’s,” he said simply. “Both coasts are extremely inhospitable to those who do not know them. I have ample time to fortify Moat Cailin further than it already is as Edmure Tully isn’t going sanction an invasion against me, and White Harbor is, as I said, a well fortified stronghold. I can keep the Lannisters out of the North.”

“How many men will come with you and your son when we go to White Harbor?” Stannis asked then, and Catelyn felt a fist clench her heart. It was the first time anyone had spoken so plainly of both Robb and Ned leaving for war, and knowing that it was coming didn’t make hearing it any easier.

“I don’t believe we should both go,” Ned said, and all three of the others stared at him. “I know you believe the threat from the north is well contained after your defeat of Mance Rayder, Your Grace, but I have seen the creatures you scoff at, and I have seen dead men rise to kill their fellows. I tell you that my lands face greater threat from beyond the Wall than from south of the Neck.”

“You have sworn fealty to me, Stark,” Stannis said, actually raising his voice just a bit.

“Indeed, I have,” Ned said in a calm, even voice, “And I intend to support you in your fight for your throne, Your Grace, but just as I would not have my goodbrother throw himself heedlessly into the conflict with no thought for his people, I would not do so myself, either. I shall march with you, but Robb must remain here to make certain our northernmost Houses are prepared to meet this threat from beyond the Wall. The Night’s Watch alone will not suffice. You saw for yourself how undermanned they are.”

“Father, I can fight! I needn’t hide at Winterfell while you put yourself at risk!” Robb protested. “You said yourself that Mother could rule here in our absence!”

“She can,” Ned said. “But she cannot ride to the Wall and fight, Robb. She cannot lead men to battle. You are the heir to Winterfell. You must defend it.”

“You are the Lord of Winterfell!” Robb protested. “You have reason to stay as much as I! Why don’t you remain in the North, and I ride out with the king?”

Catelyn felt like she was being torn in two. She wanted nothing more than to keep both of them here, but she knew what Ned was doing. “No, Robb,” she said softly. “You have more reason to stay.” She looked at Ned with tears shining in her eyes, and they understood each other without words.

“You saw your father after he fought those things north of the Wall,” she said softly, “But he’d at least been treated and had a few days’ rest then. When I saw him he looked nearly dead.” Her voice began to tremble slightly. “Your father doesn’t seek to offer you safety, Robb. You will be no more safe marching north than he will marching south. He offers you time. It is possible that you will not need to lead men to the Wall for some time yet. And Roslin . . .”

She saw the understanding dawn on her son’s face. If he went south with Stannis Baratheon, there was a chance he would never see the child Roslin carried now. But she would deliver within three moons now, possibly closer to two, and if he remained in the North, he at least had the possibility of seeing his child before he went to war.

“Mother . . .I . . .” Robb said, shaking his head.

“What about Lady Roslin?” Stannis said in a voice filled with irritation.

Catelyn had been looking so intently at her son that the king’s voice startled her, and she actually jumped a bit at the sound of it. 

“You may have noticed my son’s lady wife is with child, Your Grace,” Ned said dryly.

“Oh. Yes,” Stannis replied as if this were of little consequence to the matter at hand. “If one of you remains in the North, Lord Stark, what men would come to White Harbor?”

“I would call some men from all the lords, Your Grace, to show the entire North stands with you, but the bulk of the force would be made up of men from our more southern lands. The bulk of Lord Umber’s, Lord Karstark’s, Galbart Glover’s and Lady Mormont’s men would remain behind. Their people are used to colder weather than even other Northmen and are best suited to battles beyond the Wall. They also have the most to protect as their homes closest to the Wall.”

Stannis nodded slowly. “And you would also use men to fortify Moat Cailin?”

“I would. Primarily from the Cerwyns and Tallhearts. There are some excellent archers among those men. And possibly some from Lord Reed as well. The men of Greywater Watch are quite dangerous with spears.”

“What of Theon?” asked Robb then.

Catelyn had quite forgotten about Greyjoy.

“What of him?” Stannis asked. “The Ironborn have declared war upon us. Isn’t his life forfeit?”

“I don’t think so,” Robb said firmly, and Catelyn noted a determination in his expression that was very reminiscent of his father. “Theon was to be executed if Balon Greyjoy broke his oath to Robert Baratheon. Both of them are dead. And don’t tell me that Balon had planned to rebel before Father’s confession brought all of our men back to the North. His plans do not matter since he didn’t carry them out. It’s Euron Greyjoy who’s declared himself king. And while that cannot be allowed to stand, whom does he attack now, Your Grace? Not your loyal subjects in the North. Nor the men of the Riverlands who will certainly declare for you also. He attacks your enemies in the Reach.”

Stannis stared at Robb as if he wasn’t certain what to make of him, but Ned said, “Go on, Robb. We are listening.”

“Theon is the Lord of Pyke, Father, whether he currently holds the island or not, just as King Stannis is the king by rights whether or not he holds King’s Landing now. Theon should come south with us, fight with us. He fought bravely and fiercely by my side when the Lannisters held you. We can acknowledge him as Lord of Pyke and perhaps reach out to Lord Harlaw. He has seemed a reasonable man in our past dealings with him. We can let him know that if the Ironborn acknowledge Theon as their lord and King Stannis as their king, we will consider their raids on the Reach a contribution to our war effort.”

“And should the Tyrells and their bannermen declare for King Stannis, Robb?” Ned asked him.

“Then the raids must cease, of course.” Robb sighed. “I don’t like it, really. I’ve heard tales of Ironborn raids, and I’d rather not give my blessing to such acts. But if we expect them to accept Theon, we’ll have to acknowledge them in some way.”

“I could not allow atrocities to stand unpunished,” Stannis Baratheon said severely.

“No,” Robb said quickly. “But when my father’s men behave dishonorably, it is my father’s place to punish them. If the Ironborn have acted dishonorably, let Theon dispense justice. He has learned what he knows of justice here, Your Grace, and he if we allow him to act on his own behalf, it might help the Ironborn see him as a true lord rather than a puppet.” Robb frowned a little. “Even if his judgments are not entirely what we might desire. He must defy our wishes on some small points or his people will see him as weak. Isn’t that right, Father?”

“He faces a difficult path to acceptance by the Ironborn in any case, Robb. If Euron is leading them to great successes, they will not turn from him easily,” Ned said.

“Then we must hope that Paxter Redwyne’s fleet is a match for them,” Robb said grimly. “We can hope that the ships of the Reach and the ships of the Iron Island bash themselves against each other, and then we can pick up the pieces once we have taken King’s Landing.”

Catelyn looked at her son and shivered slightly to hear the calculating way in which he spoke of men’s deaths. She knew him to be a good man, and truthfully she was pleased to know he could be calculating when it was necessary, but her heart still hurt for the little boy who used to cry when he thought his baby sister might be hurt. _War makes all of us reach for our darkest impulses,_ she thought sadly. But if a few dark impulses on the part of her son could help guide them all safely through this nightmare, she would not seek to prevent them.

Stannis looked at Robb with interest. “Will the Greyjoy boy agree to this?”

“Theon is not a boy,” Robb said, “And he doesn’t wish to be treated as one. But he does want his rightful place, and he does understand that place is as Lord over the Ironborn. Not King. And whatever his status has been here at Winterfell, he is a friend to me. Nearly a brother.”

Catelyn heard in her mind Ned’s words of caution about Theon Greyjoy when they’d spoken at Last Hearth and hoped her son recalled them as well.

“How much do you trust him?” Stannis asked. Ned remained silent and awaited Robb’s answer.

“Not enough to allow him into this room and into our counsels,” Robb admitted. “Not enough to send him out to meet with Lord Harlaw on his own.”

Catelyn offered a silent prayer of thanksgiving that her son’s affection for Theon had not made him forget his father’s warning.

“I would have him come south with our army, Your Grace, and fight alongside us. Never without a trusted Northman beside him. And we must never make him take up arms against his own people whatever transpires. He can prove his fealty to you on the battlefield, and we can hopefully find a way to secure his people’s fealty to him.”

In her pride at Robb’s thoughtful speech and eminently well conceived plan, Catelyn almost missed the the fact that he kept referring to “us” and “we” in spite of the men having agreed that he should remain at Winterfell, and frowned when she did realize it.

“It is a good plan, Robb,” Ned told his son. Turning to Stannis, he said, “I shall need Galbart to remain in the North with his men, but his brother Robett can accompany us south. My son has told me the Glovers and Lady Mormont worked most closely with Lord Harlaw during my time at the Wall, and he can help us reach out to him.”

 _Both of them still speak as if they are going south with Stannis,_ Catelyn thought. 

Stannis looked thoughtful for a moment. “You say you would have a trusted Northman by Greyjoy at all times,” he said carefully, looking at Robb. "But how will he feel about that? Are there any Northmen he trusts in return?”

The distress on Robb’s face then made Catelyn grieve for innocent days long past. “Once I would have said myself, Your Grace. Now I do not know,” he answered honestly.

“He is angry with you, Robb, but you still have his trust more than any man he knows,” Ned said softly.

Stannis Baratheon nodded. “And how many times have you been to the Wall?” he asked Robb.

“The Wall?” Robb asked, surprised by the question. “I have never been to the Wall, Your Grace.”

Stannis nodded again. “Very well. We shall send out the letters to your bannermen, Lord Stark,” he said to Ned. “We shall see what support you truly have now that you have been restored to your rightful place as you call your banners and then assign the men of your lords as we have discussed here. As to Greyjoy, it shall be as your son has suggested.” Turning to Robb, he continued, “And it shall fall to you, Robb Stark, to be the man forever at Theon Greyjoy’s side as we journey to White Harbor and beyond.”

“What?” Catelyn said, stricken at the words. _Not both of them at once. Please gods, give me a bit more time with Robb at least._

“Robb isn’t coming to White Harbor, Your Grace,” Ned said bluntly. “We just agreed that he should remain here.”

“No,” Stannis Baratheon said quietly. “We agreed that one of you should remain, my lord, to lead the defense of the North against threats from beyond the Wall. Which of you has served in the Night’s Watch? Which of you is the Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North now?” He looked at Ned resolutely. “And which of you can maintain the closest bond with Theon Greyjoy?”

Catelyn looked at her husband and wasn’t sure what she felt. Ned’s face was impassive, but she knew he was devastated. He had honestly thought he’d found a way to keep Robb in Winterfell for the birth of his child. She had always known he regretted not being there for Robb’s own birth. Yet, she thought that she only now understood how deep that regret still ran, in spite of his having held her during the births of the next four children. Perhaps, missing Brynden’s birth so recently had brought it home to him again.

“He’s right, Father,” Robb said softly. “I understand what you’re trying to do. But it makes more sense this way. You know it does.”

“You barely know Yohn Royce,” Ned said, reaching for any weak points in Stannis’s arguments. “You haven’t seen him since you were a boy.”

“No, but he is an honorable man, and I know he respects you. You can tell me the things you wish me to ask and tell him, and I know I can trust him to treat me well as the son of Eddard Stark.”

Catelyn could not keep the tears completely from her eyes as she watched Ned nod slowly. She could see the pride mingled with grief in those beloved grey eyes as he accepted that his son truly was a man--a man, who like his father, would do his duty even when he didn’t want to. This leaving would cause Robb pain, and still he would go. He had never intended to stay in the North while Ned went with Stannis. Catelyn could see that now. Ned was the obvious choice to stay here, and therefore Robb would go. He would ride beneath a direwolf banner to oppose a Lannister on the Iron Throne just as he had when Ned was arrested. And this time, she would not be with him.

 _He is a man,_ she thought. _He is a husband, nearly a father, and he has been a high lord. He does not need his mother to go to war with him._

Silently, she took Ned’s hand beneath the desk as they both attempted to let go of the boy in their hearts in order to truly support the man in front of them as he made he difficult, but honorable choice. 

“To hear anyone refer to the fine man you have become as a son of Eddard Stark is the greatest honor I could ask for,” Ned said solemnly, and then no one seemed to find words for a moment.

“I think we are finished for now,” Stannis said then, standing up. “Find your maester, Stark. Write your letters. I would like to see what you have written before you send them.”

“I would like to send a letter to Edmure as well,” Catelyn said then, thinking that her brother certainly needed to know at least some of what had transpired here--what little she could trust to a letter anyway. Certainly, he needed to know that Ned and she were once again the Lord and Lady of Winterfell.

Stannis Baratheon nodded. “Be careful what you say in it, Lady Stark. We must play our hand well. I would like to see that letter, too.”

Catelyn bristled a bit, wondering if the man truly thought she and Ned were complete fools. But she merely nodded her agreement, and then Stannis Baratheon took his leave. 

As soon as he was gone, Robb looked at both of them with more visible distress than he had shown in the presence of the king. “Father, Mother . . .please understand. I don’t want to go. I want to be here with Roslin when our babe is born more than I’ve ever wanted anything, but . . .” He shook his head.

Catelyn could no longer remain seated and look upon her son's distress. She rose and walked around the desk to embrace the tall young man who stood himself and came as willingly into her arms as he had when he first learned to walk. “We know, sweetling,” she said. “We have walked this path, your father and I. As sad as your departure will make us, we are proud of you, Robb. And I promise I will be with your Roslin through everything.”

“It will likely take close to a moon’s turn or even a little longer for ravens to go back and forth and for men to gather,” Ned said, standing up himself. “It isn’t long enough. You will leave before your child arrives, but you do have this time, son. Make the most of it. Speak with your wife and tell her things you wish her to know. Tell her things you wish your child to know. Then pray to the gods for their safety and yours, for I promise you that there is no sweeter homecoming than to meet your child."

Ned smiled at their son still held in her arms, and said, "I pray that I am here when you do get to hold your first child.”

 _I pray that you live to return and hold your first child._ Ned didn’t say it, but Catelyn knew that all three of them could hear it just the same.

“I pray that I can be half the father that you are,” Robb said, stepping out of Catelyn’s arms to stand up straight before his father. “If I am a good man at all, Father, I have you and Mother to thank for that. And I thank the gods that you are here and once again in your rightful place.” He swallowed. “If you will excuse me, I need to go speak with my wife.”

Ned nodded, and Robb left the solar.

“Oh, Ned,” Catelyn said, nearly flinging herself back around the desk and into his waiting arms. 

He held her tightly and kissed the top of her head. “It would appear you are stuck with me longer than you thought you might be, my lady,” he said softly.

“I don’t ever want you to leave,” she said fiercely. “I want those things to stay far north of the Wall and for you to stay by side for the rest of our lives. But I fear that will not happen. And I cannot stand the thought of Robb going to war.”

“He’s been to war before, my love, as well you know.”

“Yes. He rides to war a second time before he’s even the age you were during Robert’s Rebellion. Why, Ned? Why can’t we simply have peace?”

She knew there was no answer to that question, and he understood that she didn’t expect him to give her one. Too much had happened too quickly, and having to prepare to say farewell to her son only one day after welcoming her husband home after so long was almost more than she could stand. She’d known war was coming. She’d thought herself resigned to it, but now she wanted to simply close the castle gates and keep all of her children here with her and Ned forever.

“Cat,” he said after a moment of holding her silently, and she turned her face upward to look at his. He kissed the tears that were forming there.

“Forgive me for being weak and foolish, my lord,” she said.

He actually chuckled at that. “You are the least weak and foolish person I know--man or woman,” he assured her. Then his expression grew tender. “But no one can be strong every minute of every day, and you have been strong for so long, my love. Now we can draw strength from each other. What I said to Robb applies to us as well, you know. We have time now. I do not know how long I may remain here before some threat calls me away, but while I am here I do not intend to waste the time I have. That is one lesson I have learned very well, my lady.”

He kissed her then, and she felt herself melting into him. She held onto him as if he were her anchor in a terrible storm and then thought that was precisely what he was. Grief, fear, love, anger, pride, desire. So many emotions swirled within her so often of late that she could scarcely tell how she felt from one moment to the next, but within his arms she still felt safe. She felt herself go weak in the knees and paradoxically feel stronger than she had been as she gave herself completely to his kiss.

“What!” He pulled his mouth from hers and shouted the word in extreme frustration.

As caught up as she had been in their embrace, she hadn’t even heard the knocking on the door and so was quite puzzled by his shout until she heard Elin’s hesitant voice from the corridor.

“My lord? I am sorry, my lord, but is Lady Stark within? Young Brynden needs her.”

“I’m here, Elin,” Catelyn called, hoping she didn’t sound nearly as breathless as she felt. “I shall come to my chambers right away.”

“Yes, milady,” the maid replied, and Catelyn heard footsteps hurrying away.

“I wouldn’t allow you to leave this solar for anyone else at this moment, Cat,” Ned said regretfully.

“I wouldn’t leave it for anyone else, my lord,” she replied.

His chest still rose and fell with greater breaths than normal and his gaze upon her caused her nearly to forget that she had an infant son. “Would you come with me to my chambers, Ned?” she whispered. “Your youngest son tends to nap this time of day once he’s been fed and I intend to send him to the nursery for that.”

Ned swallowed. “I should like that very much, my lady.” He offered her his arm, and she felt a tingle through her entire body as she took it. “We have a great many things we must do today, and I think perhaps we could all use a bit of rest before we attend to those.”

“But the letters,” she said, suddenly remembering their next immediate task. “Maester Luwin . . .”

“I haven’t dreamed of Maester Luwin’s face on countless cold and miserable nights. The good maester and our letters can wait until after we . . .rest.”

She smiled at him then. “Well, I do have to feed Brynden, and my ankle does trouble me a tiny bit . . .”

“You shouldn’t be without your crutch yet, Cat,” he admonished her. “So I certainly cannot let you walk all the way back to your room without assistance. And once there you shall sit down and let me carry our son for you. Once he is fed, I shall put you to bed without allowing that foot to touch the floor. Do you understand me?”

The smile she gave him then caused his breath to catch, and her own heart beat faster to see it. “Oh, I understand you, Ned. I understand you very well.”

Without another word, he escorted her from the solar and toward her own chambers as quickly as he could without actually picking her up and carrying her, and she thanked his gods and hers once more that in spite of everything that still threatened their family, her husband was truly home and truly hers.


	18. Eddard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It seems I am always apologizing for abysmally tardy updates to this fic. I really am sorry. Real life happens, and other fics happen, and . . .well, I am sorry. I hope this day in the life of Eddard Stark is at least somewhat worth the wait.

Eddard Stark held the parchment in his hand as he stared out the window of his solar into the courtyard. The weather had turned much colder, but there hadn’t been any new snow for several days and he saw a fairly large number of people, all heavily cloaked against the chill, moving about below. He knew that smallfolk were already trickling into the Winter Town as everyone could feel that autumn was waning. This newest letter in his hand as well as several others on his desk filled him with a sense of foreboding about the season ahead.

“Winter is coming.”

Startled by his thoughts having been suddenly given voice, he turned toward the door of his solar and smiled. His wife stood there, obviously having just come in from outside. She wore her thickest fur cloak, and while her hood was pushed back off her head, she had not yet removed her gloves. Her cheeks were reddened from the cold air and she looked at him with a smile of her own.

“I have never known you to be overly fond of the Stark words, my lady,” he said softly.

She laughed. “Fond of them or not, I cannot deny the truth in them, my lord,” she said as she stepped into the solar, pulling her gloves off and moving to stand before the hearth and rub her hands together. “Particularly on a day as cold as this one.” She looked at him thoughtfully. “And you were thinking along those lines just now. I can tell. Is that a new letter?”

He walked to her, tossing the parchment onto his desk as he passed it and taking her cold hands into his own. “Aye,” he said, as he rubbed the chilled flesh of her fingers. 

She sighed at his monosyllabic reply. “Who is it this time? And what have they to say of our news? Is someone else echoing Lord Karstark’s _surprise_ that my marriage to Lord Umber has been declared unconsummated in light of our _eager_ behavior at the wedding feast, as he so delicately put it? Or perhaps, Lord Bolton has sent you another missive declaring that while he remains _ever loyal_ to you and Winterfell, he is grateful that _this boy_ whose paternity is questionable has three elder brothers whose trueborn lineage is unquestioned.”

“Cat,” he growled, “Those were the only two. Not a word of doubt or suspicion has been expressed in any other response. You know that.”

Sighing, she pulled her hands away from his to undo her cloak. “Expressed,” she said. “No one else has expressed any doubts, but that doesn’t mean they don’t have any. And I certainly have no doubt that Roose Bolton, at least, will encourage those doubts where he finds them.” She shook her head. “Lord Rickard is more loyal to you, my love, but the loss of his sons wounded him deeply.”

“Then he should be pleased by the chance to avenge them by going to war once more,” Ned said as he took the cloak from her and laid it aside.

“True,” she replied. “But you know as well as I that he also had hoped for a match between Robb and his daughter Alys. He blames me for the fact that he will not see his grandson as the Lord of Winterfell because I made the marriage pact with the Freys.”

“Robb agreed to it, Catelyn. Not that either of you had much choice about it if you wished to cross the Green Fork.” He turned her to face the fire and stood behind her rubbing her shoulders.

“Mmm,” she murmured in response to his ministrations. “I don’t think Lord Rickard saw it that way, though,” she insisted, refusing to be distracted from her thoughts. “He saw a southron lady making a southron match for her son, a match with a daughter of one of her father’s own bannermen, in fact. You know he isn’t the only Northern lord who hoped that you would return to the tradition of wedding your heir to a good Northern bride rather than looking to the south as your father did. And then, of course, I wouldn’t let him kill Jaime Lannister for Torrhen and Eddard. The man likes me little, I’m afraid, and would be quite pleased to see you set me aside.”

“I fear he shall have to remain unpleased, then,” Ned said flatly, bending to kiss the nape of her neck before turning her around once more to face him. “Cat,” he said clearly, looking directly into her eyes. “Bolton and Karstark, and their insinuations, mean little to me, although you know perfectly well that I responded to both men with admonishments to have a care how they speak about the Lady of Winterfell or any of my children. You, my lady, are the one who kept me from wording those responses as strongly as I would have liked.”

“I can’t have you alienating your bannermen, Ned,” she said, shaking her head at them. “And I can survive their remarks. I simply worry that they might use me to poison men against you. The North follows strength, and the men here have never questioned your strength or your honor. They don’t question it now. But . . .if someone like Bolton persists in whispering in their ears that I’ve made a cuckold of you . . .” Her voice caught. “I can survive their remarks. But I could not stand being the cause of any man questioning you.”

He made himself take several deep breaths before responding because her words made him angry, and he did not wish her to believe him angry with her. “No man will question me,” he said firmly. “And if they do, it will not be your doing. It will be the evil work of other men, and I will not let it stand, Catelyn. I shall attempt to hold my tongue when possible as you have asked of me. But I will respond to serious accusations with strength, and I will leave the men of the North no reason to question me . . .or you.”

She nodded mutely, and he closed his arms around her, pulling her into his chest. He’d debated even showing her those letters, but he’d promised no secrets or lies, and so he’d hidden nothing from her--neither the letters he’d received nor those he’d sent in response. And the letters had been overwhelmingly supportive with those exceptions. 

He’d received a letter from Jon yesterday. Mance Rayder had been burned in the red priestess’s fire, and Ned could tell that weighed heavily upon Jon. Unable to prevent it, he had ordered an archer to shoot the man at least to prevent him the agony of slowly burning alive. Jon’s current efforts were largely focused toward settling the wildlings and increasing the preparedness of the Night’s Watch--all while dealing with the rather intrusive presence of Selyse Baratheon, and he had asked if Ned thought perhaps the Queen and her daughter (and her men) might be better hosted at Winterfell.

In truth, Ned didn’t want Selyse Baratheon here, and he certainly did not want the Lady Melisandre in his castle ranting against the godswood and Catelyn’s sept, but he had to admit Winterfell was a more suitable place for a queen and a young princess than the Wall, and he had made up his mind to speak first to Catelyn and then to Stannis about it. Then today’s letter came.

“Who is the new letter from, my love?” Catelyn asked without raising her head from his chest, and he was startled once more by her uncanny ability to seemingly divine his thoughts.

He sighed. “Cersei Lannister,” he said simply.

She jerked her head up then, eyes wide as she looked at him. “What does it say?”

“What you’d expect.” Reluctantly, he let go of her and walked to the desk to pick up the parchment he’d tossed there. “She didn’t care for Robb’s reply to her demands.”

Catelyn took the letter and began to read, and he waited in silence for her to finish it. 

“My gods, Ned,” she whispered. “I fear the woman truly is unhinged.”

“I read it,” he said quietly. 

“So, Margaery Tyrell has been wedded to little Tommen, although Cersei refers to her as . . .” She looked down to find the precise wording and read, “A scheming little tart.” She looked up at Ned incredulously.

“Better my son be wed to that scheming little tart of House Tyrell than an ill-bred, half-wit, violent little wolf bitch,” Ned quoted. “At least the tart brings with her the armies of the Reach while your sister has naught to offer but the vile bloodline of a traitor.” He sighed. “I’ve read it a number of times.”

“No one in their right mind would send such a letter,” Catelyn insisted. “To say such vile things about Arya and you and her own gooddaughter! And the insults she flings at Robb!”

Ned allowed himself the smallest of smiles. “Well, the woman didn’t know she was actually responding to you, my love, or likely you would have been thoroughly defamed as well.”

“You will present yourself and your sister, Sansa, in King’s Landing to swear fealty to King Tommen, to answer charges of conspiring against the crown, and to have your sister wed to Willas Tyrell. If you do not appear, House Stark will be declared in rebellion against the crown.” Catelyn looked up at Ned after reading that passage. “Oh no, my lord,” she said with exaggerated concern. “The Queen Regent is threatening to declare us in rebellion.”

He laughed at her, relieved that she could find humor in the irony of that statement. He’d feared she would be incensed by the woman’s vile words about their children, but it seemed she could take this letter no more seriously than he could. It truly did seem the ravings of a madwoman. “Well, I suppose we shall just have to rebel then, my lady.”

He took the parchment from her and laid it down in order to take her in his arms again. He had found himself doing that frequently over the past fortnight. Simply holding her seemed to settle him as nothing else could, and he thought he would never grow tired of the feel of her. “Cersei Lannister cannot touch us here, my love. And if her advisors are allowing her to send such drivel as her official correspondence, then the situation in King’s Landing has likely deteriorated even more than we’d thought since Lord Tywin’s death. The city may be ripe for the taking.” 

“Gods, I hope so!” Catelyn replied. “I pray that this war will not be a long one. I would have Robb home with us quickly.”

“I would, too, Cat,” Ned said. The reminder that their son was to leave Winterfell on the morrow for White Harbor left Ned feeling cold. “I cannot stand that our son is going to war while I remain safely here,” he said hoarsely. “It isn’t right.”

“I don’t want either of you to go!” Catelyn exclaimed. “But you are not remaining here to keep safe and sound, Ned. You know that.”

“Aye, but the threat from the North is not yet upon us, and I am sending our son into battle . . .”

“The king is sending our son into battle,” she said vehemently. 

“There was a letter from the Wall yesterday,” Ned said then, wishing to change the subject.

“You said nothing of it!”

“It arrived late, and when I came to your room, I had no wish to discuss unpleasant things.”

“I seem to recall you had no wish to discuss anything at all,” she said, smiling at him.

“No. In truth, I tire of endless discussions, correspondence, and preparations. I would remain as we were last night all the time if I could.”

“We’d starve.”

He laughed at her. “I don’t think I’d mind, my lady.” He kissed her then, granting himself the sweet refuge of her lips for a brief moment. Then he sighed. “We should sit down, Cat. And I will show you Jon’s letter.”

When she had finished reading, she looked up at him. “She burned a man alive? What manner of woman is this, Ned?” Her face plainly showed her horrified shock at Jon’s recounting of Mance Rayder’s sacrifice.

“One I hesitate to allow into my home,” Ned grimly. “And yet, how do I not open our gates to the queen and her daughter?”

Catelyn shook her head slowly. “You have told me little of this priestess. You did meet her, though, didn’t you?”

Ned thought back to the one audience he had with Lady Melisandre at the Wall. “I only truly spoke with her once, although I saw her other times--walking with Stannis, leading her night fires. She is beautiful and intelligent. She . . .sees past what people say.” He recalled how quickly Melisandre had discerned Catelyn’s importance to him. 

“She doesn’t seem mad?”

“No. She is quite rational in her speech. She doesn’t rave as Cersei does there.” He nodded his head toward the letter from King’s Landing lying on the desk. “But I think that is what frightens me most. She speaks calmly and lucidly, but when you truly listen to her words about her god and his power, and her disdain for other gods, those words are terrible and cruel. Yet, her manner of speech makes them sound reasonable.”

“She lies and manipulates, then?” 

Ned frowned, uncertain how to explain what he meant. “She manipulates, certainly. She holds great sway over Selyse Baratheon, I have heard, and from what I saw, she wields more influence over Stannis than I would like. Yet, I would not say that she lies, my lady. She appears to believe what she says--with no doubt or question. That is what makes her terrifying. She believes she understands the will of the one true god and that Stannis Baratheon is that god’s instrument--Azor Ahai reborn.”

“And does Stannis believe this of himself?” his wife asked him with concern evident in her wide blue eyes.

“Stannis Baratheon has little use for any gods, I fear. He thinks this woman’s is no worse than any other. He does believe she has some power, though. He listens to her when she speaks.”

“And does what she tells him?”

Ned shook his head. “Not without question, no. The man is too convinced of his own rightness to allow anyone to order him about. But you have seen for yourself that he will listen to counsel if it sounds wise. And, she can sound wise.”

“I don’t want her here, Ned.”

“Nor do I. But we may have little choice in the matter.”

“I won’t have her speaking out against the Seven or your gods, Ned. Not here. Not in our home.”

“No,” he assured her. “I intend to make that very clear, my love. Should the Lady Melisandre elect to come here, I will respect her right to worship her own god, but she shall not be permitted to denigrate our own.” He took her hand and squeezed it. “She may refuse to leave the Wall, Cat. I cannot say I like the woman, but she does seem to view the Others as the greatest threat facing us, and if she keeps Stannis from forgetting about that as he pursues his throne, I will be glad of it.”

She squeezed his hand and nodded, and then, taking a deep breath, said, “Jon would like a moment to speak with you today, my love.”

He attempted to keep the scowl from his face that threatened to appear every time he heard her say ‘Jon’ instead of ‘Lord Umber.’ “And he felt he had to seek out my wife to intercede on his behalf?”

“Stop growling, Ned. He didn’t seek me out. We saw each other in the Great Hall. You remember the Hall. That large building where most people in the castle go to break their fasts?” She frowned at him. “Have you eaten anything at all this morning?”

“One of the kitchen girls brought something earlier.” He motioned vaguely toward the table at the side of the room where the plate still sat. “I ate a bit.”

“You are working too hard, my love,” she told him, letting go of his hand to touch his cheek. “You mustn’t push yourself so.”

“Why not? It isn’t as if I won’t have time to rest once the Robb and Stannis and the men leave.” He knew why Stannis had decreed that he be the one to stay behind. He understood the reasons. Yet, he could not help but feel guilty that he would remain behind castle walls tomorrow. He would lie down beside his wife tomorrow night while his son slept on the ground somewhere between here and White Harbor, wondering if he would ever see the child in his wife’s belly. Ned recalled that feeling all too well and would have spared his son from it if he could.

“Ned,” she said softly, shaking her head and then leaning forward to kiss him. She didn’t say anything else for she understood him and knew well enough that words would not change how he felt. 

“What does the Greatjon want?” he said when they broke the kiss and she had straightened again in her chair beside his. Umber had been included in any number of discussions over the past days, along with Robb, Stannis, and various other men who had come to Winterfell. He had been nothing but respectful and had contributed to their discussions and planning. There had been no more incidents like that at the feast, and Ned had not had reason to find complaint with the man’s behavior around Catelyn in public. To Ned’s knowledge, he spent no time with Cat in private, and that was as it should be.

“I do not know, my lord. He didn’t say. When I left the Hall, he asked if I was coming to see you, and I told him I was. He asked me to tell you he’d like a moment of your time if you could find it today.”

Ned frowned. “I fear I shall never find time to do all that needs done today. I must speak with Stannis about this letter from Jon and what he wishes to do about his wife and daughter, and also about Cersei’s intent to declare the North in rebellion. I know he would wish to make headway toward Dragonstone before the Lannisters have a chance to reinforce defenses there, but I would prefer to publicly announce our allegiance to King Stannis before the woman publicly names Robb traitor.”

“Now that we have informed all in the North of our intent, my love, word of your return and our alliance with King Stannis will reach King’s Landing sooner rather than later in any event.”

Ned nodded. “That is why I would send a raven soon after our men depart, my lady. But I should discuss it with Stannis. And I mean to speak with Theon today before he departs, and of course I shall spend time with Robb.”

“All three of them are in the armory,” she said. “They told me they were going there when they left the Great Hall.” She gave him a pointed look as she offered this subtle reminder that even the men who were leaving on the morrow took time to break their fasts properly. “The king intends to come here directly after while Robb and Theon will go to the stables and see about the horses for the journey.”

“So Stannis first then,” Ned sighed.

“And you will make time for Jon,” Catelyn insisted. “After all he’s done for us, Ned.”

When he didn’t respond immediately, she frowned at him again. “There has been great cost to him in this, you know. Beyond whatever he feels for me. He brought a wife home to Last Hearth, my love. I was welcomed there, and when we announced that I was with child . . .” She bit her lip, and he tried very hard to focus only on her words and feelings rather than the white hot anger that flared within him at the mere thought of another man announcing proudly to his household that Catelyn carried his child. “No one there ever expected him to wed again,” Catelyn said softly. “A new trueborn child for Last Hearth was celebrated greatly. And now they all know that we lied. They have to feel hurt and betrayed, Ned. His own people.” She closed her eyes briefly and the pained expression on her face when she opened them again to look at him tore at his heart. “I never thought . . .” she said. “I never truly considered all that this meant for him when I asked it. I only saw the danger to our child . . .to you. I was selfish, and I asked far more than I had a right to, and now I have gained all that I hoped for and he . . .” Her voice broke.

“Cat,” Ned said, putting his arms around her. “You asked him for nothing he did not do willingly. And he would do it again. All of it.” The resentment he still felt toward Umber as he spoke those words caused him his own pang of guilt, but the words were true, and he could not allow himself to be concerned about the Greatjon or himself at the moment. Catelyn was all that mattered, and she had to know and believe that she had done nothing wrong. _Jon Umber would tell her the same,_ he thought grudgingly.

“He should never have had to.”

“No,” Ned said quietly. “None of us should have had to do a great many things we’ve done these past years, but there is no help for it, my love. It is done. Now we go forward. All of us.” He kissed her. “Tell Jon to come to my solar before the evening meal,” he said softly. “He deserves my time, and he shall have it.”

“Thank you,” she said. Then she smiled at him and put both hands on his face. “I don’t think it will ever stop,” she whispered.

“What?” he asked her.

“The way I want to laugh and cry and hold you to me every time I look at you or hear your voice. You are here, my love. We are in Winterfell, together. And I . . .” She made a little sound that wasn’t quite a laugh as tears shone in her eyes, and he understood perfectly what she could not put into words. 

“I don’t want it to stop. I don’t ever want to forget what I so nearly lost.”

Neither of them spoke any more as their arms wound round each other and their lips met again. Ned knew nothing but the feel and scent of her until he heard a cough from the doorway of the solar.

“Forgive me, my lord, but we do have several pressing matters to discuss.”

Catelyn jumped backward, and her cheeks flushed brightly, but she rose to greet Stannis Baratheon, bowing her head deferentially before meeting those disapproving dark blue eyes with her own. “Your Grace,” she said courteously. “I was just taking leave of my lord husband. He is most anxious to speak with you.” 

Had it not been for the color in her cheeks, no one could have guessed from her demeanor how Stannis had found them, and Ned could not suppress his smile as she then turned toward him and nodded with a courteous, “My lord,” before walking gracefully from the solar, leaving both her cloak and gloves behind.

“Your Grace,” Ned said, rising himself. “Please come in. We have received two more ravens I should like to discuss with you. And, of course, I am interested in whatever concerns you have about your departure on the morrow.”

Stannis walked directly to the desk and sat down across from Ned who sat down as well. “For a moment I thought I had mistakenly stumbled upon a bedchamber, Lord Stark,” the man said said without any inflection in his voice. 

“Lady Catelyn noted my absence from the Great Hall and came to make certain I broke my fast,” Ned told him. “And there were matters I needed to discuss with her.”

“Yes,” Stannis said, looking distinctly disapproving. “Although, mayhap such discussions should take place somewhere other than in the lord’s solar.”

“Oh for gods’ sake, man. There’s no crime in kissing your wife,” Ned said in exasperation. He had about reached his limit of Stannis Baratheon. Remembering the man was his king, he added, “Your Grace.”

“Anyone could have seen the two of you,” the man persisted.

“The door was closed,” Ned sighed. “And I did not hear a knock, Your Grace.”

At that, Stannis ground his teeth, but said nothing because he had a habit of entering Ned’s solar as if it were his own. “Tell me of these letters,” he said after a moment.

When he had read Cersei’s missive, he agreed that it was past time a formal declaration of the reinstatement of Eddard Stark as Lord of Winterfell and the North’s support for himself as the King of the Seven Kingdoms was sent southward, and the two of them drafted the statement together with the intent of Ned sending it so that its arrival in King’s Landing would roughly coincide with the men’s arrival at White Harbor.

“If seas are fair and you do not tarry long in the Vale, you should reach Dragonstone with reasonable speed, Your Grace.”

Stannis nodded. “And if Cersei Lannister is truly wielding power unchecked in King’s Landing, she will react to our letter by fortifying the city rather than thinking of Dragonstone.”

Ned raised his brow in question, and Stannis made a sound that in any other man might pass for laughter. “I spent far too many years in close proximity to Robert’s golden queen,” he said. “She thinks of herself first, always. Even when thinking of others would in truth benefit her more greatly. She is not a fool, but she is not prudent. That letter speaks well enough to that.”

Ned nodded. “But would she listen to wiser counsel?” He seriously doubted it from his own experience with the woman, but he was interested to hear what Stannis would say.

“No. Unless the counselor had the ability to give her something she needed and the position to more or less compel her to take their advice. She surrounds herself with those who speak what she wants to hear.”

“I fear that is a failing common among rulers,” Ned said said, thinking that while the man in front of him had no fondness for being contradicted, he did have an appreciation for honest speech and an ability to discern good counsel from flattery.

“It is. In any event, I doubt she has any aid to send toward Dragonstone as Mace Tyrell has likely sent the Redwyne fleet chasing after your Ironborn which puts them on the wrong side of the continent.”

Ned noticed that while he stated that fact with great satisfaction, he gave no credit to Catelyn for having engineered that by sharing news of the Ironborn raids with Willas Tyrell. “The other letter is from the Wall, Your Grace. It is rather lengthy as it goes into great detail about the provisions and manpower the Lord Commander has and needs. I can address these issues once we have you and your men on your way. He did speak of your queen and your daughter, however.”

Stannis looked at him with interest, and Ned hurriedly continued. “He asks if you would prefer that I host them here at Winterfell rather than their remaining at the Wall. Castle Black is not much of a place for a highborn lady and girl.” He wanted to give Stannis all the information he needed without the king’s asking to actually read the letter as Jon’s desire to rid himself of Selyse Baratheon was fairly evident in his words.

“That is likely true,” Stannis said. “I had not thought . . .I mean, the Lord Commander assured me of their safety, of course. But it would be far more comfortable for them here, wouldn’t it? And they would be significantly closer to Dragonstone once we have retaken it.”

“Indeed,” Ned said. 

“I shall write the queen and tell her that she and Shireen are to come to Winterfell to await word of our recovery of Dragonstone,” Stannis said, and Ned restrained himself from inquiring if he didn’t want to hear Queen Selyse’s thoughts on the matter first. “I thank you for the hospitality, Lord Stark.”

“It is our pleasure, Your Grace.” He took a breath and committed himself to saying the rest of it. “There is something we must discuss first, however.”

Stannis simply looked at him.

“The Lady Melisandre, Your Grace. She, too, is at the Wall. Would she accompany your wife and daughter here?”

Stannis’s eyes seemed to darken slightly. “Would she not be welcomed as well?” he said.

“She would. But I would expect her to behave as a guest.”

“Speak plainly, Lord Stark.”

“Jon writes that she burned Mance Rayder in her fires. Of course, you knew that was her intent.”

Stannis continued to look directly at him.

“I will tolerate no talk of human sacrifice here, Your Grace. Nor will I allow the woman to insult the gods of my ancestors or the Seven to whom my lady wife prays. I would have you make that very clear to her.”

“The Lady Melisandre is devout in her beliefs, Lord Stark. To her, R’hllor is the only true god.”

“That is all good and well for Lady Melisandre, and I will not impede her worship of her god. She can light her night fires as she likes, but she will not burn weirwoods or statues of the Seven, and she will not use her fires as a forum to defame the gods of the people here.”

“I cannot control her beliefs, my lord,” Stannis says stubbornly. “She speaks truth as she sees it, and I shall not prevent her from doing so.”

“I do not ask you to have the lady compromise herself,” Ned said in exasperation. “Only to show the common courtesy any guest owes to their host.” He sighed. “Our head cook’s youngest boy was burned rather badly three years ago and the scars have left him rather hard to look upon. Shall I go into the courtyard and shout about his ugliness?”

“That is not the same thing,” Stannis insisted. Visible anger showed on his face now, and it occurred to Ned that the man’s own daughter was scarred by greyscale, and he wished he had chosen another example.

He had to press his advantage, however. “It is the truth, Your Grace. You would prevent me from speaking the truth?”

“There is no purpose in it!” The man nearly shouted.

“No,” Ned said quietly. “It is only hurtful. And that is precisely what Lady Melisandre’s hateful speech about our gods would be here. Hurtful and to no purpose. And I will not allow it.”

“Very well,” Stannis said after a moment. “I will write to her of your conditions for attendance here. She may not accept it, however, and choose to remain at the Wall.”

“That is her prerogative. As long as the Lord Commander is willing to host her.” He paused. “I was surprised she did not accompany you.”

Stannis sighed. “She would rather I did not go south at all, although she knows I must claim the throne which is mine. She, rather like you, Stark, is convinced that our true threat lies to the North. It will come from beyond the Wall.”

“I have seen the creatures beyond the Wall, Your Grace. And they are terrible.”

Stannis ground his teeth. “I am letting you stay, am I not? I am allowing you to keep Umber and the Mormont woman and any number of men I could make use of to the south. I do not ignore your warnings. Or hers.”

“But you are not entirely convinced we are right.”

Stannis sighed. “I have never seen a White Walker, Lord Stark. I do not know how to prepare to battle what can I scarce believe exists. I do know the enemy who sits on my throne. I know how to take ships to Dragonstone and then lead men to King’s Landing. I can fight this battle. And with your men, and the men we hope yet to gain, I can win it.”

Ned saw the quiet confidence in the king’s face. He was not boastful, but he knew his own abilities and believed in his cause. Ned believed in it, too. He only hoped that dragons would not arrive from beyond the sea to present Stannis Baratheon with yet another foe he did not know how to fight. He decided that it would serve nothing to mention that now. He had spoken of dragons to the man enough times already.

“I have confidence that you can, Your Grace,” he said simply. “And I shall be pleased to watch over your wife and daughter, as well as the Lady Melisandre if she is willing to abide by the dictates of simple courtesy.”

“I thank you, Lord Stark.”

Their conversation then turned to such matters as numbers of men, and where the men of various other houses would be meeting them, and types of armor and weapons and adequate furs and scarves and gloves for the journey. Before Ned knew it, nearly two more hours had passed, and he and the king made their way to the Great Hall for the midday meal for he knew Catelyn would not tolerate his missing a second meal in a row. And he needed to find Theon Greyjoy.

The meal passed pleasantly enough, although he noted that neither Robb nor Roslin were in attendance, and he hoped that his son was spending a pleasant hour with his wife. Ned enjoyed conversing with his children and his own wife although Rickon still had little to say to him. He spied Theon Greyjoy sitting with several of the men who would be riding out on the morrow and stopped on his way out of the Hall to ask him to come to his solar when he finished his meal. The lean young man looked at him with curiosity and suspicion, but simply nodded and replied with a courteous, “Yes, my lord.”

Jon Umber was absent from the Hall as well, but Catelyn assured him she had spoken to Jon just a short time before when he’d been watching Rickon shoot his bow, and that he would come to Ned’s solar before the evening meal. Ned realized with a pang that he had never seen Rickon shoot a bow. He recalled hearing of Smalljon taking him to to shoot at Last Hearth and thinking that he was much too small for such a thing, but apparently it was something the boy really loved. He silently vowed to ask his son if he would show him his skill with the bow once the riders left on the morrow. 

He hadn’t been back in his solar more than a few minutes when a knock on the door announced Theon Greyjoy’s arrival. He called for him to enter and watched the dark haired young man come to stand before his desk and bow quickly. 

“You have need of me, Lord Stark?” he asked.

“I would speak with you a moment, Theon,” he said. “Sit down.”

The young man sat and Ned took a moment to take in his appearance. He was nearly two and twenty years now, still lean, but a bit taller and more muscular than Ned remembered from before he had gone to King’s Landing. He hadn’t spent much time at all with Theon since his return, but he had noted the absence of his ward’s cocky grin.

“I haven’t gotten to converse with you at all since my return, Theon.”

“No one seems to converse with me, my lord,” Theon said plainly. “About me, yes. With me, no.”

“That isn’t true. I know Robb has spoken with you in some detail about our plans.”

Greyjoy shrugged. “Perhaps. I couldn’t honestly tell you if he’s told me all of them or not, Lord Stark. He tells me only what he wishes me to know.”

Ned sighed. “You are a man, Theon. Quit acting like a boy.”

Theon bristled at that, but said nothing.

“You are the rightful heir to the Iron Islands, Lord of Pyke, and yet you sit in my solar and pout because you were not privy to the plans for my return here and because a young man who has loved you as his brother since he met you did not share with you the news of your father’s death until he could devise a way to deal with it which kept your head on your shoulders!”

“He was my father, Lord Stark!” Theon shouted back. “I had a right to know as soon as Robb did!”

“You did,” Ned said simply, and Theon stared at him as if he couldn’t believe the words.

Ned sighed again. “You did,” he repeated. “But men do not always receive what is rightfully theirs. Do you believe, Theon, that I belonged on the Wall for all these many moons? Answer me honestly. Do you believe I committed crimes for which I deserved to be stripped of my title, my lands, and my family, and sent to the Night’s Watch?”

“No,” he admitted.

“Your rights were forfeited long before mine, Theon,” Ned said sadly. “When Robert Baratheon took you hostage and gave you to me as a ward, you were denied your rightful place and have been ever since. My son would see you have it back.”

“He has a strange way of showing it,” Theon said coldly.

“Damn it, boy!” Ned exploded. “You know next to nothing of the islands you would rule.”

“I know more than you!”

“No!” Ned took a deep breath, and made himself speak more softly. “You do not. And the fault for that is mine as much as anyone’s. The ways of the Iron Islands are not the same as ours, Theon, and I was charged with making you like us. The rest of the Seven Kingdoms look upon the North as a more primitive culture than their own and the Iron Islands as far more barbaric even than that. I was to teach you honor and duty and fealty to the crown so that when you came into your seat, you would be a loyal vassal for Robert Baratheon.”

Theon looked looked at him with a gaze that could be made of iron, but he did not speak, and so Ned continued.

“But Robert is dead now, and his wishes are no longer paramount. The Seven Kingdoms have bled and will bleed more before the question of who sits the Iron Throne is settled. I would have them bleed as little as possible. Stannis has a good claim to the throne, and while I do not agree with him in all things, he is a good man. A just man. I can support him in good conscience.”

“But you would not support me?” Theon asked. “Now that my father is dead and my uncle has usurped my place and declared himself king, you would not support me?” For just a moment, Ned heard a hint of something from the past in his voice. A hint of the boy who declared to all who could hear he was a Kraken and yet desperately tried to gain approval among the Wolves. Ned could recall times when Theon had seemed to crave the same pride and affection from him that he gave to Robb and Jon, but he could never give that. How could he love the boy knowing that his life was forfeit if his treacherous father ever defied Robert? He’d done the best he thought he could, but he wondered now if he shouldn’t have done better.

“I do support you, Theon,” he said softly. “But I fear the Iron Islanders will not.” He sighed. “You are used to the way of things here, where a trueborn son of a lord is his heir whether the people think another would be better suited or not. That is not the way of your homeland, Theon. Your people will be suspicious of a boy raised in the Green Lands for all his name is Greyjoy. I do not pretend to understand their ways, but I know enough of them to know that you will not be accepted as their lord simply because you are Balon’s son or because Stannis Baratheon or Robb or I say that you must be.”

Theon was looking at him intently now, his expression one of true interest in his words rather than anger and defiance. 

“Robb has told you all you need to know, Theon. Fight by his side. Fight hard and make a name for yourself in battle as you did when you rode with Robb before. No one will ask you to fight your own people. Robb and I have made that very clear to Stannis. For now, the lords of the Reach are with the Lannisters so your uncle’s raids on their lands can be viewed as fighting on the right side as far as your people are concerned. It is only the man who leads them that we take issue with. Prove your strength and your loyalty to them, and mayhap they will welcome you as lord.”

“And if loyalty to them puts me at odds with the Iron Throne? If the people of the Iron Islands only want a ruler who would make himself king? What would you have me do then, Lord Stark?” Theon asked, and Ned was pleased by the question even if some anger remained in his ward’s voice.

“Choose wisely, Theon,” he said. “I would have you choose wisely. And the wisest course of action may not be discernible until you are forced to the choice. For my part, I would see you Lord of the Iron Islands, maintaining your people’s identity and safety within the Seven Kingdoms, remaining loyal to King Stannis. And to that end, Robb has people who have been working with your uncle on your mother’s side, Lord Harlaw, for some time.”

“The Reader?” Theon asked with a bit of disdain. “He has no power over Euron.”

“He has more power than you think, Theon, because he has knowledge. And we can use that knowledge to our advantage. To your advantage. For what it’s worth, he would much rather see you or your sister Asha on the Seastone Chair than either of your Greyjoy uncles.”

“Why did I not know that Robb was doing any of this?” Theon asked.

“Because you are not a Stark, Theon. Because all of these efforts began as part of my son’s endeavors to get me back from the Wall. Very few people knew about any of the contacts he has made in any number of places, including the Iron Islands. Only Catelyn and himself knew all. He loves you, Theon, but you are not a Stark. You rode with Robb under our banners while I was imprisoned in King’s Landing, and do not ever doubt that I am grateful for that. But once I was convicted and sentenced, it became another game--one Robb had to play alone.”

“With Lady Stark.”

“With Lady Stark,” he agreed. “The two people I love and trust most in all the word, Theon. With the help of some very select Northmen in various roles.”

“And I am not a Northman.”

“No. You are a Kraken, Theon, and I would have you be who you are. Robb would have that even more so. You may resent your treatment here in the past and in the present. That is your prerogative. But I would have you put aside that resentment enough to attend to the task at hand both for our sake and your own. For while you are not a Northman, you will have a Northman as a brother if you will allow it. If you prove true to Robb, he will ever be true to you, Theon. Whatever else you believe of us, believe that.”

Theon was silent for a very long time. “Whatever I do, Lord Stark, I will stand by Robb,” he said finally.

Ned nodded. He couldn’t expect any more from the young man, and he honestly couldn’t know even now what he would do as this war played out. But the affection between Robb and Theon was real, and so Ned had used the only weapon he had in order to keep young Greyjoy solidly in Robb’s camp. Gods willing, it would be enough.

Recognizing that he was dismissed, Theon Greyjoy rose, and Ned stood to bid him farewell. Theon stopped at the door and turned back to Ned with a smile that looked almost like his cocky grins of old. “Welcome back, Lord Stark,” he said. “Winterfell is your place.”

When Theon had gone, Ned left his his solar as well, seeking out his firstborn son. He spied him near the entrance of the Sept, walking toward the the little seven-sided building with his mother on his arm. He smiled both to see the two of them together and to note that Catelyn’s limp seemed to be entirely gone. As much as he wished to speak with Robb, he couldn’t bring himself to interrupt the two of them, and he allowed them to walk into the sept together without making them aware of his presence. Instead, he walked to the stables where horses were being readied to leave on the morrow. 

“Lord Stark! What can I do for you, my lord?”

Ned smiled at the young man who now served Winterfell as Master of Horse, seeing his father so clearly in his face--his father who had been one of so many good men murdered on the day of Ned’s arrest in King’s Landing.

“I need nothing, Harwin,” he said, “For I am certain you have seen to everything.”

“I have tried, my lord,” the young man said earnestly. He had survived that massacre only because he had ridden out with Beric Dondarrion before it happened and then had managed somehow to survive the Mountain’s ambush of that party of good men. _How many men I have sent to their graves?_ Ned wondered. _Too many, by far. Please gods, do not allow my son to be numbered among them._

“All is in very good order here, Harwin,” Ned assured the man in front of him. “You are your father’s son, and he would be proud.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Harwin said with a smile that echoed his father’s, and Ned offered a silent prayer of thanksgiving that Harwin had decided to return to Winterfell when the cessation of hostilities took place. It was good to see something of those brave men who’d died continue on here.

After the stables, he went to the armory and even the kitchens to see the state of preparations for tomorrow’s exodus, and he was pleased everywhere he went. In the kitchens, the head cook, already in preparations for tonight’s evening meal had laughed at him.

“Of course all’s been readied, milord! Do you think Lady Stark would let us send her baby boy off without enough food?” The other cooks had laughed heartily at that, and it had gladdened Ned’s heart to see how quickly the people of Winterfell had welcomed their lady back in truth. Whatever opposition they may face from without these walls, there was none within.

The sights and smells of the evening meal being prepared reminded him that he had promised to speak to Jon Umber before they went down to the Hall, so he returned to his solar, leaving the door open so that the Greatjon would not have knock to gain entry. He busied himself with reviewing correspondence concerning the numbers of men committed to the war effort from several houses and was uncertain how much time had passed when he heard Jon Umber’s voice.

“My lord?”

He looked up to see the big man standing in the doorway, nearly filling the entire space. “Come in, Jon. Please,” he said, gesturing to the chairs in front of his desk.

Jon walked to the front of the desk and eased his large frame into one of the chairs. “I won’t mince words, Ned,” he said, using Ned’s given name for the first time in what seemed like a very long time. “I want to go home.”

Ned looked at him. “We have to be certain the far north--the lands within the Gift--are well patrolled, Jon. We need to . . .”

“We need to get men there, my lord,” Jon interrupted. “And I’m prepared to do that.” He sighed. “You’ve already said you’d like me to take command of men patrolling to the east of Castle Black and ye’ll have Lady Maege in charge to the west. I’ll have my own men and men from the Karhold, and she’ll have her men and those from Deepwood Motte and Winterfell. Isn’t that right?”

Ned nodded. “You’ll have what men you need from Winterfell as well, Jon. You know that. Once we see where the needs lie . . .and I intend to go north as well, at any sign of trouble.”

“Aye,” Jon said. “We’ve been through all this. And my uncle Mors is bringing some of our men down to White Harbor even now so that my House is counted in Stannis’s party.” He frowned. “My son is livid that you won’t let him go, Ned.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Ned sighed. “He was a force to be reckoned with when you rode south with Robb after my arrest to hear my son and my wife tell it.”

The brief grimace on Jon Umber’s face at the words ‘my wife’ made Ned regret the mention, but all the big man said was, “He was. I was proud of him. You know Hothar can manage Last Hearth even if I am spending all my time closer to the Wall. Why keep the boy at home at, my lord?”

Ned swallowed. “He is your only son, Jon. I would not see you lose him needlessly.”

“Needlessly? This is a needless battle you send your own heir off to fight?”

“No. I don’t mean that. But there are enough men. Stannis has enough men, and I am confident he will find further support in the Vale--with or without my goodsister.”

“The lad’s no craven. He’s a brave boy, my son.”

“He is. He’s also a fine man who will make a good lord one day. And he is your only son.” Ned looked at him sadly, not wishing to pour salt in the man’s wounds. Yet he needed to silence the argument that he was sending his own heir to war. “I have four sons, Jon,” he said quietly. “And I shall keep three of them safely here at Winterfell.”

Jon looked at him steadily. “You have five sons, my lord. Don’t forget the bastard on the Wall. The one that’s risen to be Lord Commander.”

Ned did not miss the accusation in the man’s tone. _I never betrayed her,_ he thought angrily, but of course he could not say that. “Aye,” he said. “And I am proud that he has overcome the stain I gave him to live so worthy a life. I have ever been sorry that I put him or my lady wife in the position of bearing my own shame.”

It was as close as he would come to apologizing to this man for any of his actions regarding Catelyn. She was his wife, not Umber’s, and he owed the man no explanations for anything concerning her. Yet, as his wife had reminded him, Jon had protected Brynden and her at significant personal cost to himself. He would give him this much and pray to the gods the man did not push for more.

He didn’t. He merely nodded. After a moment, he said, “Then I repeat what I said when I sat down, my lord. I’d like to go home. No amount of talking in this solar is going to do any more to prepare us for whatever comes down from the North, whenever it comes. We need men on the ground, and I need to see to my own Keep before I take men northward. I intend to write to Lord Snow about quartering some of my men in the abandoned waycastles on the Wall. I wouldn’t do it without his permission, of course, and if the Night’s Watch requires any of them . . .well, they belong to the Watch.” He shrugged. “But ye’ve told us the state of the Watch in terms of numbers, and it seems a sin to just let the castles sit empty if I’m taking men North who’ll have need of shelter.”

“It’s a good thought, Jon. We should consider the same for the waycastles to the west for Maege’s men. Robett’s going south to meet up with Stannis’s men, and I’ve got Galbart mostly working at keeping tabs and communications with our friends, inasmuch as we have them, among the Ironborn. But Galbart could easily ride north as well if need be.” He sighed. “It’s as you said. We can’t fight what we can’t yet see, but gods help us when we do see them.”

“We’ll do what we can, my lord. It’s in your House Words, you know.”

Ned smiled grimly. “Winter is coming. Indeed it is, and I fear it could be a long and grim one, my friend, and I don’t know that we’re prepared.”

Jon gave him an odd look for a moment, and Ned realized he’d called him ‘my friend.’ _Well, he is my friend, dammit, even if I don’t want him in the same room as my wife._

“Then as I said, my lord, a hundred more conversations here won’t get us better prepared. It’s time I left Winterfell. Have I your leave to go tomorrow when the others ride out to White Harbor?”

“No,” Ned said, and he raised his hands in a conciliatory fashion as the big man’s eyes darkened in anger. “You can go. Of course,you can go. But not tomorrow. Wait a day or two and . . .” The next words hurt him to speak. “spend some time with Rickon. Bid him a proper farewell. The lad will miss you terribly, I’m afraid. He won’t take your leaving well.”

“He’ll be all right. His place is here,” Umber said brusquely.

“It is,” Ned agreed. “But I’m afraid he has more good memories now at Last Hearth, and he is old enough now that he’ll not forget those.”

“I’ll wait a day or so,” Jon agreed.

“I haven’t seen Rickon shoot,” Ned said suddenly. “I intend to ask him to show me tomorrow--once everyone has gone. Would you come with us? Your presence might make him easier about it.” Admitting to Jon Umber that his presence would likely ease his son more than his own could hurt worse than anything he’d said so far.

“All right,” Umber said slowly. “You’ll be proud of him. He’s quite good for a boy who can barely lift a bow. Better than Jon was at that age, I think, and the gods know Jon was bigger.”

Ned smiled at that and Jon Umber rose to take his leave. As he started to turn away, Ned said, “I am grateful, Jon. You can never know how grateful I am.”

The Greatjon smiled ruefully and shook his head. “You’re wrong there, my lord. My trouble is that I can know just how grateful you are or at least how grateful you should be. Take good care of her, Ned. Make her smile. She’s breathtaking when she smiles, and she’s had far too little to smile about for far too long.”

He paused as if waiting for Ned to call him out for speaking in such a manner about his wife, but Ned kept himself silent, and Jon Umber bowed slightly. “You are a most fortunate man, Lord Stark. Don’t squander the treasure the gods have blessed you with so richly.”

The man turned and walked away then, and Ned sat silently for a long while pondering what he’d said. _Let me bring her joy,_ he prayed. _For I’ve brought her far too many tears._

He wasn’t certain how long he’d sat there when he was shaken from his thoughts by his wife’s voice.

“Ned?”

He looked up to see her in the doorway just as he had that morning, wearing her cloak. “I forgot to get my gloves when I returned for my cloak earlier,” she smiled, walking to where he’d laid them that morning. “I’ve been running around without them all day, and I am thoroughly tired of having freezing hands.”

“And you feared I might skip the evening meal if you didn’t arrive to escort me?”

She laughed. “No. I knew you wouldn’t miss tonight as it is the last meal for the men before they leave.” She pulled on her gloves and fetched his own cloak to him. “I did, however, think it would be nice to arrive at the Hall on my husband’s arm.”

“I think that would be very nice, indeed.”

They didn’t say much else as he fastened his cloak and offered her his arm. It was growing quite dark and the temperature outside had fallen further with the sunset. She leaned into his warmth unconsciously as they walked just as she always did in the cold, and he thrilled at the simple pleasure of it. She had been completely correct earlier when she’d spoken of how the simple fact of being together had taken on new significance--every moment merely touching each other, greater importance--since they had been reunited here. He hoped that never did stop. He had no intention of squandering this particular treasure.

He hadn’t realized he was staring down at her until they reached the doors of the Great Hall, and she looked up at him. “What are you smiling at?” she asked.

“You.”

The meal was festive as meals before men leave to war always are, and the ale flowed freely. Cat was rather quiet, and Ned noticed that Roslin was almost entirely silent and her face looked pale. Robb smiled and japed with his men, but he did not leave his wife’s side, and Ned could detect an undertone of solemnity and even grief in his son’s handsome face.

When everyone had eaten their fill, still the ale flowed and cheers of “Stark” and “Winterfell” and even “King Stannis” filled the Hall. The king in question left the Hall fairly early for he had taken little part in any of the revelry. Jon Umber sat drinking with several soldiers at one of the trestle tables and seemed in fairly good spirits. Rickon banged his cup on the table loudly and shouted with every cheer, but the older children were more reserved, understanding better what tomorrow would bring. Ned had just about decided he was finished with the Hall himself when Catelyn leaned in to whisper to him.

“Take your son for a walk, Ned.”

He looked at her. 

“You haven’t seen Robb all day, my love. And he needs you. I will walk Roslin back to her room and stay with her until Robb returns. Sansa can take Rickon to bed tonight.”

He smiled at her. _Treasure, indeed._ He squeezed her hand tightly beneath the table and stood to ask Roslin if he might borrow her husband. She nodded faintly and then tried to give Robb a smile as he stood to go with Ned.

Once they were outside, Ned turned to his son. “Is it too cold to remain outdoors for a bit?”

Robb smiled at him. “Not for a Stark.”

Ned laughed. “Come on, then,” he said.

“The godswood?” Robb asked as he saw where Ned was leading him.

“Well, your mother took you to the sept earlier. I thought the old gods deserved equal time,” Ned said with a smile.

Robb laughed, but then turned quite serious. “I always pray in the godswood now, you know, Father. The sept was for Mother. She wanted to offer a prayer to the Warrior for me, and I . . .”

“Never apologize for your mother’s gods, Robb,” Ned said to him. “You are a Stark of Winterfell, my son, every bit as much as I am, and you belong to the old gods. But your mother’s blood runs through your veins as well, and there isn’t any better blood in the Seven Kingdoms. Her gods have a claim on you as well, and I am just as pleased to have all the gods looking out for you when you go.”

Robb actually threw his head back and laughed loudly then.

“Did I say something funny?” Ned asked him for he hadn’t been joking.

“No, Father,” Robb said. “Not at all. It’s only that Mother said almost the exact same thing to me earlier today. The very words, I swear! When I was little, I sometimes wondered how you ever came to be married to each other because you seemed so very different from each other. But the older I get, the more I see how you are alike.”

“Or maybe we’ve grown more alike as you’ve gotten older,” Ned said, shrugging. “In any case, she’s still a lot prettier.”

They had continued walking as they spoke, and they now approached the grove where the heart tree stood. 

“I spent some time here earlier today,” Robb said quietly. “It clears my head.”

“Aye, it does do that.”

Ned looked at his son, who now stood eye to eye with him. The sun had gone, but a full moon shone and he could see Robb’s face clearly enough. The face of a man looked back at him in the moonlight. “I am proud of you, son,” he said. “I am proud of you and I am overwhelmed with gratitude for what you have done for me. I left you here a boy, and without any help from me, you’ve become a fine man, and you’ve managed to bring me home as well.”

“Mother gets most of the credit for bringing you home, Father. She never let me give up.”

“Now it is you who sound like your mother,” Ned smiled. “For she has said those precise words to me about you.”

Robb returned the smile briefly, but then continued speaking. “And it isn’t true what you said. Everything I did while you were gone, I did with your voice in my head. Everything I know of being a man, I learned from you. I only hope I’ve learned well enough to deserve your pride.”

“Robb,” Ned said hoarsely. “You are my firstborn son. The first time I laid eyes on you, I felt something I never had before. I can’t explain it, but you will know it. When you hold your child for the first time, you will know it.”

“And does it always happen? Even after the first time?” Robb looked at him earnestly. “For you speak of seeing me as if it were something entirely new, even though you’d already seen Jon.”

Robb’s words cut through his heart in so many ways. For while Robb was older, he had not been there to see him born, and he’d brought Jon to Winterfell before Catelyn arrived with Robb. Yet, there was no jealousy in Robb’s question. Just the honest curiosity of a young man seeking to understand fatherhood. Jon had sometimes envied Robb, Ned knew. How could he not have, given the situation? But in spite of all Catelyn’s obvious misgivings, Robb had only ever loved his brother without reserve. _It is always new,_ he thought, _but the first is special. And you were the first. The first babe I ever held in my arms knowing that I’d had a part in creating him. And I can never tell you that. And you deserve to know it._ Aloud, he only said, “It is always new--no matter how many babes you have.” Smiling he added, “And there is something about your firstborn, Robb, even if you are not present at his actual birth. I have always known you were my first child, and when I received your mother’s letter telling me I had a son . . .There is nothing that compares to that day in all the days since. It was a singular experience.”

“I want to be here, Father,” Robb said quietly. “For Roslin. For my babe.” He looked up. “But I want to go, too. Not because I want to fight but because it is my turn to do my part. You fought in your wars, and I feel like it’s my turn now. The Lannisters have to be defeated. What they’ve done to us . . .”

“It isn’t only about us and our grievances, Robb,” Ned said gently. “Tommen Baratheon is no true king. Not even a true Baratheon. The child is blameless in all this, of course. He’s no older than Bran, but his family has wrought great injustices on the land far beyond what has been done to us. So, fight for our House, yes. But remember you also fight for much more.”

“I will, Father. I promise.”

Ned smiled at his son. “We should go back to the Great Keep, for you need to hold that pretty wife of yours close tonight and tell her everything you feel you’ll want to say tomorrow or a week from now. I spent far too many years not speaking plainly enough to your mother, and it cost us both more sorrow than we needed to have. I’d have you do better than I did.”

Robb grinned at him. “Considering the way the servants talk about the two of you, I’d say you’ve done just fine by Mother, Father.”

Ned smiled and looked down at his feet briefly. “Still,” he said. “I’d not have you make my mistakes.”

“I’ll never be untrue to her, Father. I won’t. I know that men are tempted, and I understand how it can happen, but I promise I will not shame my wife. Not ever.”

Ned felt cold then for the first time. _I'd not have you make my mistakes,_ he’d said. What else was the boy to think that he spoke about? “I know you won’t, son,” he said softly. “And that makes me prouder than I can say.” He sighed deeply. “As much as I would hate to leave your mother. And your brothers and sisters, I do wish I was riding with you tomorrow. It seems wrong somehow to send you to war without me beside you.”

“I’ve been to war, Father,” Robb said softly.

“Aye, and without me then, too.” He swallowed and clapped his son on the back. “You proved well enough then that you didn’t need this old man, though, so I suppose I should be comforted in that. Let’s get you back to Lady Roslin, shall we?”

They spoke of fairly insignificant things as they walked back to the Great Keep side by side, but Ned thought he had never had a more significant conversation in his life for he and his firstborn spoke as entirely as two men rather than a man and a boy. When he parted ways with Robb inside the Keep, with Robb going toward Roslin’s rooms and himself toward Catelyn’s, it struck him that tomorrow could be the last day he ever saw his son, and he had to grip the wall a moment for support.

_Keep him safe, he prayed. Keep him safe and whole and let him return to hold his child and know the feeling I spoke of._

Then he turned and walked slowly to Catelyn’s rooms, knowing that she would come there as soon as Robb arrived at Roslin’s. He needed her. He needed her more than he needed the solid stone of the Great Keep beneath his feet or the lifegiving warmth of the hot springs pulsing through the castle’s walls. Winterfell was his place. He’d heard it today, and he knew it well. But as he sat down on Catelyn’s bed and pulled off his boots, waiting for her to arrive, he knew just as certainly that while Winterfell was his place, Catelyn was his home. And after this day, Eddard Stark was more than ready to be home.


	19. Catelyn

She stood dry eyed in the courtyard as her son rode out with Stannis Baratheon. Roslin, beside her, wept openly, finally giving up the struggle to keep the tears at bay as the men and horses disappeared through the gates. Catelyn thought no less of her. It warmed her, in fact, that her son’s wife cared enough for him to be so disturbed at the thought of his going into danger.

“Forgive me, my lady,” the young woman said quietly as she swiped at her cheeks with her gloved hand.

“There is nothing to forgive, Roslin,” Catelyn replied, putting her hand on the girl’s arm gently. Ned, on her other side, had not taken his hand from hers the entire time they’d stood there and that had given her the strength to get through this departure. Mayhap, her touch could give Roslin even a tiny bit of comfort now, for the poor child likely felt completely alone without Robb here. In a matter of days, she’d lost the title of Lady of Winterfell and bid her husband farewell, perhaps forever.

 _No. Not forever. Robb will come home. I cannot think anything else and still breathe._ Catelyn closed her eyes against the sudden stab of terror for her firstborn babe.

“I should be stronger, I know,” Roslin said. Then she appeared to notice Catelyn’s own distressed expression. “Are you well, my lady?”

Those words got a reaction from Ned who tightened his grip on her hand and moved to where he could see her face. Catelyn forced herself to open her eyes and smile at both of them. “I am as well as can be expected on such a day,” she assured them both. “And you have been strong, Roslin. And will be stronger still. I have no doubt of it.” 

Truthfully, the young woman’s tears had already stopped, perhaps interrupted by her moment of concern for Catelyn, but Catelyn knew well enough that her grief had not lessened at all. “I wept,” she told her gooddaughter. “When my lord husband rode to battle the Greyjoys, and I carried Arya in my womb. I was terrified my new babe might never know her father, and I could not restrain my tears until reaching the privacy of my chamber.”

Roslin nodded in understanding. “You . . .you carried Robb when Lord Stark left you for Robert’s Rebellion as well, didn’t you, my lady?”

“Yes,” Catelyn said, feeling the urge to both smile and weep at the thought of Robb safely in her womb. “But I did not know it then.” _I didn’t know Ned then, either. Not truly._ Silently, she thanked the gods for the man she did know so well now, the man who stood there still looking at her with concern.

“I am fine, Ned. Truly.” She squeezed his hand, and turned back to Roslin. “Go on to your chambers, my dear. I have no doubt you’d like a bit of time to yourself. But be sure and come to the Great Hall for the evening meal as you shouldn’t be alone too terribly long.”

“I’ll come,” Roslin said. Then she looked back toward the gate and her eyes began to water once more. “Thank you, my lady!” she said before all but running toward the Great Keep.

“Should I . . .”

“No, Ned. Let her go.” Catelyn then turned to look at four of the five children still left to her in Winterfell. “They still have lessons today, do they not, Maester Luwin?”

A rather dismayed rumbling met her question, but the maester only replied calmly. “Indeed, Lady Stark.”

“I don’t want to go to lessons! I want to go shoot!” Rickon protested.

“Rickon,” Ned said firmly before anyone else could respond. “If you are old enough to handle a bow, you are certainly old enough to work on your letters and numbers. Mind Maester Luwin well, work hard for him today, and I shall come fetch you from the Maester’s Turret myself so that you might show me your shooting skills.”

That silenced the boy for a moment. Then he stuck out his chin and said, “I need Lord Jon to come. He knows the right bow to get for me.”

Catelyn felt Ned’s tension in the hand that held hers. “I shall bring him along,” he said simply.

“I’ll run get Hodor,” Arya said, looking from her youngest brother to her father.

Catelyn nodded at her absently. They’d laboriously cleared a path to get Bran’s chair this far from the Great Keep so that he could watch his brother’s departure seated rather than being held by the big man, but there was certainly no time or reason to expend the energy on clearing a suitable path all the way to Maester Luwin’s turret.

“Rickon and I can wait here with Bran,” Sansa said quickly, “But I promise we will come as soon as Arya returns with Hodor, Maester Luwin.”

The maester nodded at her with a smile. “I shall see you very soon, then,” he replied, turning to go toward his tower.

“Have there been any ravens today, Maester Luwin?” Sansa asked suddenly.

“No, my lady. None that I am aware of.”

Catelyn watched her daughter’s face carefully. She awaited a letter from Willas Tyrell who had promised to write her upon reaching the Red Keep. Truthfully, there had not yet been enough time for Tyrell to arrive in King’s Landing, but Sansa still asked. Catelyn feared what any letter received from Tyrell might actually say. Once they sent their own letter to King’s Landing, formally breaking with the Lannister boy on the Iron Throne and declaring for King Stannis, there could be no kind words from Sansa’s betrothed. Sansa knew that, and yet still she dared hope for some good to come out of her betrothal. After all she had suffered, she still believed men could be good. Catelyn supposed she had Ned to thank for that.

“It’s too soon, Sansa,” Ned said gently. “You know we won’t receive any letters yet.”

She nodded, blushing slightly at the fact that her father knew so quickly why she had asked about ravens.

“Come, my lady,” Ned said to Catelyn then. “I know how little you like to simply stand about in the cold, and we’ve been out here for some time. I’m rather surprised you haven’t been summoned for Brynden yet.”

“I’m certain I will be soon,” she replied, smiling at him. “Be good, children. Your father and I shall go see to your youngest brother. Mind the maester.”

“Yes, Mother,” Sansa, Bran, and even Rickon said almost in unison. Arya had already dashed off in search of Hodor.

Taking Ned’s arm to walk back to the Great Keep, it occurred to Catelyn that other than the brief exchange between Roslin and herself, none of them had spoken of Robb. _He fills all our minds and hearts,_ she thought. _Yet we all fear that to speak too much of him right now might cause us to come undone._

“You were very kind to Roslin just now,” Ned said softly.

“I tried to be. She has no family here, Ned. I refuse to consider the young Walders as family to her because I honestly believe she wishes she could forget they are.”

Ned chuckled softly at that. “We are her family now,” he said firmly. “And we’ll make certain she knows that.” He paused. “You weren’t entirely truthful with her, though, my lady.”

“Oh? How was I untruthful, my lord?”

“You told her you cried when I left for Pyke. You trembled. I recall well enough how you trembled in my arms, and you bit your lip so that I thought it would bleed. But your eyes were dry.”

Her eyes began to water now, realizing how clearly he did recall that terrible day. “I did not say I cried in front of you, my love,” she said softly. “Only that I wept before I left the courtyard. That is true enough. And Roslin kept her own eyes mostly dry today until Robb was too far to see her tears.” 

They had reached the Great Keep then, and he opened the door for her. When he closed it behind them, shutting out the cold, he turned her to face him.

“I never knew what it was to be the one left behind. The one watching someone I love ride to war. I never knew until today,” he said softly.

The tears she had kept at bay began to fill her eyes and even threaten to spill over as she looked at the face she loved--the lines etched in it by long years of suffering and worry making him look older than his thirty-seven years. He wouldn’t cry, not even in the privacy of his own bedchamber, but she saw his grief plainly enough--his grief, his fear for Robb, his guilt and helplessness at being in Winterfell rather than at their son’s side. “I’ve known it a long time,” she said, laying a hand on his bearded cheek. “It isn’t easy, my love, but you’ll survive it. Just as I’ll survive it once more when you go north to face those monsters.”

“I do not think you weak when you cry, Cat,” he told her earnestly. “You are stronger than anyone I know, and you needn’t hide your tears from me.”

“I don’t hide anything from you,” she said as a tear slid down her cheek. “But I would send you to war with a memory of my face not streaked by tears. Roslin wished to do the same today. I understand that.”

He brought his own hand up to her cheek and wiped the tear with his thumb. “Any memory of your face is life to me when I am away from you. Do you not know that, my love?”

“I . . .” Her voice caught in her throat. Before she completely recovered, she recalled they were still standing in the entryway. “Let’s go up to my room,” she said hurriedly.

They didn’t speak until they reached her chambers which they found deserted. Catelyn surmised that Brynden must still be content enough in the nursery if no one had brought him to her yet. They had scarcely removed their cloaks, though, when a knock came at the door and Mina appeared with the child in her arms.

Before Catelyn could move, Ned had rushed to take their son from the maid’s arms. Brynden didn’t protest, simply looking up at Ned with a wide, open-mouthed smile.

“Thank you, Mina,” he said almost curtly, turning away at once to walk toward the window with his son.

“He was hungry, milady,” the maid said to Catelyn as Ned walked away with her. “Would you like me to stay until you’ve finished feeding him so I can take him back?”

“I think we can . . .”

“No,” Ned interrupted from other side of the room. 

Catelyn started to frown at him, but then looked at his face--really looked at the expression on that face as he held Brynden in his arms, not taking his grey eyes from the baby’s smaller, but identical pair.

“Could you bring us some wine, Mina?” she asked softly.

“Wine, milady?” the maid asked, obviously puzzled. Neither she nor Ned were in the habit of requesting wine randomly in the middle of the day.

“Yes, please.”

The maid looked from her to Ned and back to her again before answering “Yes, milady” with a quick bend of the knees and bob of the head.

“Are you all right, Ned?” Catelyn asked when the maid had left the room.

“Varys told me Robb had gone to war,” he said very quietly, raising his eyes from Brynden’s to look out the window. “I was in the black cells awaiting my fate when he came to me to tell me of the queen’s proposal.”

“That you take the Black?” Catelyn said in little more than a whisper.

He nodded. “And he told me my son had called the banners and led an army of Northmen against the crown for my sake.” He turned and looked at her then. “And all I could think of was him with his wooden sword.”

“Oh, Ned,” Catelyn said, as the tears came once more. 

“I know he is a man, Cat. But I look at Brynden, and I can see that babe with your hair and eyes instead of mine.” He sighed. “I am scared for him. He is more a man now than he was then, and he did well enough then, I know. But I am still scared for him.”

Catelyn walked to him and brushed her hand through his hair. “Of course you are. He’s your child, Ned. It matters little that he’s a man grown. I was with him in the Whispering Wood, you know. I could actually hear the sounds of the battle from where he left me with my guard, and I thought my heart would stop every time I heard a man cry out in anguish. I won’t be able to hear his battles this time, but I know he will fight them, and I am scared, too. But we must trust in our son to act wisely and in the gods to watch over him. There is nothing else to do, my love.”

He shifted Brynden to one arm and put the other around her, drawing her to him. They simply held each other for a few moments in silence, looking at their youngest son and thinking of their eldest. Then, as if her proximity reminded Brynden he was hungry, he began to fuss and reach for her. She took him from his father and walked to a chair with him just as Mina returned with the wine.

“Just put it on the table, Mina,” Ned said softly. “And thank you very much.” Catelyn could see he realized how abrupt he’d been with the poor girl before by his manner now.

When the maid had put down the wine and the glasses and gone back out, Ned watched her suckle Brynden for a moment and then went to pour two glasses. He immediately raised one to his lips, took a large drink, and then sighed.

“I think, mayhap, it easier to go to war than remain behind, Cat,” he said, shaking his head.

“I think, mayhap, you are right,” she answered. “But I don’t think either is an easy thing.”

She recalled Robb sitting beside her in the sept the day before after they had both prayed before the Mother and the Warrior. 

“I’m scared, Mother,” he’d said simply, allowing her to put her arms around him. “Please don’t tell Father.”

“Do you think your Father is not afraid when he rides into battle, Robb? I told you once that there is a difference between being brave and being fearless. Your father would tell you only a fool is fearless.”

He’d nodded. “I know,” he said. “But I still don’t want him to know how afraid I truly am.” He’d looked at her with those blue eyes that mirrored her own. “I think it’s because of Roslin . . .and the babe. Mother, I don’t want to die without seeing my child.”

His words had pierced her heart more sharply than any dagger, but she’d forced herself to remain calm and think of him rather than herself. “Robb,” she’d said. “I do not believe you will die. I don’t. But I cannot be certain of that any more than you can. I nearly didn’t write to your father when I knew I carried you because I feared it would give him one more thing to worry about, and he needed a clear head for war. But then I thought he would want to know he has a child. An heir. Even if he never returns, he will die knowing that part of him lives on. And so I wrote him about you.”

“I know, Mother. And I am glad of my babe. So glad. It comforts me to know my child will be born here at Winterfell, and one day will call it his own. But, I cannot tell you how terrible it is to contemplate never knowing that child. Or that child never knowing me.”

“Oh, your child will know you, Robb,” she’d whispered. “If the gods are kind, he will know you because you are here with him, but if not, he will know you by our words. Your father’s. Mine. Your brothers’ and sisters’. Roslin’s. We will tell him of you, sweetling, and he will know what a fine man his father is.”

He’d swallowed hard. “I want him named for Father if it is a boy. I’ve told Roslin she can choose the name if it’s a girl.”

“That seems fair,” Catelyn had smiled. “I’m glad you claimed the boy’s name for yourself. I don’t think I could stomach a grandson named Walder.”

Robb had laughed at that which had been her intent. “You needn’t worry on that count. I don’t think Ros would name a child for her father even if we have ten sons.” He’d quickly turned serious again. “I do want to go, Mother. I know you and Father had hoped Stannis would keep me here in place of Father, but I honestly believe Father needs to be here now. He’s been too long away already. The North needs him here. You need him here.”

“I need both of you here, Robb. We don’t always get what we need. Somehow, we still manage, though.”

He’d nodded. “We do. We’re Starks of Winterfell. And don’t tell me you’re not a Stark, Mother.” He’d smiled at her then. “I will try to be brave.”

“You are brave, my son. Try to be wise, as well.”

He’d smiled more widely. “I’ll have to be. I won’t have you along to be wise for me this time.”

“And you won’t require me, Robb. I have every faith in your abilities. So does your father.”

He’d nodded, and then looked at her with an expression she’d seen thousands of times on his face as a child. “I hope he does. But, still . . .you won’t tell him I said I was scared, will you, Mother?”

Brynden pulled himself off the teat and struggled in her arms, trying to get to the other nipple, apparently having taken all he could from the first one. She moved him to the other and sighed as she watched him latch on and suckle eagerly once more, wishing it were still so easy to provide all her children what they needed.

“Wine?” Ned’s voice almost startled her although he spoke quietly.

“What? Oh, yes,” she said. She noted that his glass was empty and he refilled it before handing her hers. 

“You were far away, my love. I don’t suppose I need ask where your thoughts were.”

“No,” she said softly. She took a sip of the wine, and it felt warm and sweet in her throat. “I fear my thoughts will often be with our son now, Ned.” She smiled ruefully at him. “You will get a taste of what it is like to be around me when you are gone to war, and you can sympathize with everyone forced to endure my company during your battles.”

He laughed. “There are many words I can use to describe spending time with you, my lady. Endure will never be one of them.”

She smiled more widely. “I love you,” she said.

“And I love you, Cat.” The words still made her heart jump. They seemed to come easier to him now after all they’d suffered, but she still thrilled at the sound of them like some lovestruck maiden, and thinking of that made her laugh.

“What’s funny?” he asked her as he moved a chair so that he could sit close beside her as Brynden suckled.

“Nothing,” she said. “I am simply glad that Robb is our son, and that you are my husband, and that you are here with me now. Those things give me reason to smile and laugh, and I need smiles this day.”

He reached out and took her wine glass from her, sitting both glasses carefully down and taking her hand in his. “I would give you smiles whenever I can, my love. All our lives.”

They simply sat there in silence for a bit after that as Brynden took his fill. When he had finished and fallen asleep, Ned laid him in the center of Catelyn’s large bed rather than taking him to the nursery. Then he picked their wine glasses back up and came to sit beside her again, handing her glass to her once more.

“Didn’t you say you were going to fetch Rickon from Maester Luwin?” she asked him, after taking another sip.

“Aye. And the Greatjon, too,” he said grudgingly. “But it won’t hurt the boy to learn a bit more before he leaves his books for his bow. So, first I shall finish this glass of wine with my wife.”

“I’d like that,” she said, reaching out to hold his hand again. 

So, the two of them sat together once more, holding hands, sipping their wine, and silently saying farewell and keep safe to their firstborn son.

A little later, after Ned had gone to find Jon Umber and go rescue Rickon from the drudgery of lessons for the more exciting pursuit of archery, Catelyn found herself restless. She picked up Brynden, who didn’t wake from his nap even when she moved him and went in search of one of her maids. She quickly found Elin who happily agreed to take the babe to the nursery. Unable to bear simply brooding alone about Robb, Catelyn then returned to her room only long enough to get her cloak and gloves.

Thinking that Roslin may not yet be up to company and that the older children would likely remain with Maester Luwin for a time, she decided to walk out on the covered bridge to the armory. From there, she might be able to see Rickon shooting without disturbing him or the men. 

A fairly brisk wind hit her as she stepped outside, and she thought that would likely make archery difficult for a boy of Rickon’s age. Yet, when she walked far enough along the bridge from the Great Keep, she could see them in the yard below--the two men with the small boy between them.

“I can’t hit anything!” Rickon’s wail came clearly to her ears, and she stopped, standing far enough back that she wasn’t obviously visible from below.

“It’s the wind, son. It takes the arrows and drives them to the side,” came Ned’s deep, patient voice. “You have to allow for that, but the wind today may simply be too strong, and that bow is very big for you.”

“I’m not a baby!” Rickon insisted. “I can hold the bow fine! And I know about wind. Smalljon taught me. I’m just messing up is all.”

“Mind your manners when you speak to your father, lad.” 

Jon’s voice wasn’t unkind, but it had a certain authoritarian ring to it that made Catelyn cringe. Ned would no more appreciate Jon’s behaving fatherly toward Rickon than he did the man behaving husbandly toward her.

“Yes, Lord Jon,” Rickon said. “I’m sorry.”

Catelyn moved forward to see better which way her son was facing, and it was apparent her son had apologized to Jon rather than to Ned. Her husband’s posture told her plainly enough that he was hurt by that, although she doubted anyone else could see it at this distance.

“Do you want to shoot another, Rickon?” Ned asked him, almost too softly for Catelyn to hear from her perch.

“You aren’t a quitter, lad. You never have been. How many times have you told Smalljon that wolves never quit?” 

If Rickon replied, Catelyn couldn’t hear it, but he did pick up an arrow and reach for the bow that she only now realized Jon had been holding for him. It looked enormous against his little body. Jon helped him nock the arrow and draw back the string, and then he moved away. She watched her son take one breath and then another. His skinny little arms were actually shaking as he took aim at the target. When he loosed the arrow, it flew a good distance, but passed well to the left of the mark.

“I can’t do it!” Rickon shouted, throwing the bow down.

“Rickon!” Ned said sharply. “You should never cast a weapon down like that. You could damage it. Now pick it up.”

“I can’t. My arms hurt.”

Jon started to say something, and Catelyn clearly saw Ned put his hand up toward him. She didn’t have to see his face to know the expression he’d turned toward the larger man. “Rickon,” he said again, his voice quiter, but no less firm. “You can pick up that bow, and you will. I understand if your arms are too tired to shoot again. There’s no shame in that. I’m impressed you shoot the arrows so far. I couldn’t at your age. We shall come again another day with less wind and you can practice again. But if you are finished today, you will pick up the bow and return it to the armory.”

“Lord Jon takes it back when I’m ready to quit,” the child said sullenly.

“Ah, but as you know, wolves do not quit. When we finish something, we finish it completely, and I expect you to put your bow away. If you cannot reach its place, I will help you hang it up.”

“I don’t want to be a wolf!” Rickon suddenly shouted. “Giants are strong! A giant could make the arrow hit the target in the wind!”

“Rickon!” Greatjon exclaimed, visibly upset by the boy’s words.

Rickon paid him no heed this time, though. “And I don’t want your help!” he shouted at Ned. “I want to go home! I want to go to Last Hearth! Why did you have to come back?”

With that, he spun around and bolted in the direction of the godswood, undoubtedly in search of Shaggydog.

“Ned. He doesn’t mean it. The boy’s just embarrassed at having shot poorly in front of you. He’ll be . . .”

“Do you think I need you to explain my son to me, Jon?” Ned’s voice was ice, and Catelyn’s heart broke to hear it.

“No,” Jon said quietly. “But mayhap you do need to get to know him as he is now a bit better before you order him around, my lord.”

Catelyn waited for the inevitable flash of temper, but it did not come. Ned stood only stood there, as rigid and silent as a statue.

“He’s afraid of you. And he’s afraid of disappointing you,” Jon continued. “He spent every day at Last Hearth reminding everyone he was a Stark of Winterfell, and now he’s here--confronted with the Lord of Winterfell, the father he knew more as legend than man. What do you expect of him?”

“I should let him go with you,” Ned said quietly. “He’d be happier there.”

“No.” Catelyn realized she’d spoken the word aloud, but it was little more than an anguished whisper, and she was too far away for the two men to hear.

“No,” Jon said firmly. “He’d miss his mother too badly. He’s too young to be away from her. It’s why he came to Last Hearth in the first place. When he’s older . . .if you’ve any interest in fostering the boy . . .he’d always be welcomed there.”

She wished she could see Ned’s face. She could imagine some of what he felt, but she needed to be closer to him. She wanted to touch him so badly then. The wind kicked up even more then, and whatever he replied to Jon was too quiet for her to hear over it, but he turned away and walked toward the godswood. Catelyn wondered whether he sought Rickon or his heart tree and decided she needed to go to the godswood as well.

She nearly ran the remaining steps to the armory and surprised the men there when she came down the stairs. She barely responded to their hasty bows and “milady”s before hastening to the doorway. Just outside, she nearly collided with Jon who was obviously returning the bow Rickon had been shooting.

“Catelyn,” he said, holding out a hand to steady her as she’d stumbled upon stopping so quickly. “Why are you . . .”

“I need to go, Jon,” she said.

He sighed. “I should tell you . . .”

“I saw,” she interrupted him. He hadn’t taken his hand from her arm, and she pulled free of his grip, trying not to look at the hurt that inevitably showed in his eyes whenever she withdrew herself from him. “I need to be with him,” she said, honestly not knowing if she meant Ned or Rickon or both of them. 

Jon only nodded and walked around her without another word into the armory. Catelyn closed her eyes tightly for a brief moment, and then took a deep breath and hurried in the direction her husband and son had both taken.

She came across Rickon at the gate to the godswood, coming toward her with Shaggydog in tow. 

“He’s in there,” Rickon said as she approached, pointing into the godswood. He went toward the heart tree.”

“I came to find you,” she told her son, deciding in that precise instant that his need was greater.

The way his blue eyes widened in surprise told her she was correct in that. “Why?” he said. “You always go wherever he is.”

“Rickon,” Catelyn said, “I have missed your father terribly during the years he was forced to be away from us. I confess I am most anxious to spend time with him now that we have him back, but that does not mean I want to spend time with you any less.”

“We’re never going back to Last Hearth, are we?” Rickon mumbled, looking down. Shaggydog had come up beside him, Rickon had one hand buried in the wolf’s thick, black fur. He wore no gloves, Catelyn noted, likely from where he had been shooting, but the fingers on his free hand did look red from the cold, and she took it between her hands as she replied.

“No, sweetling. Lord Jon will go, for Last Hearth is his home. Winterfell is ours.”

“Why does everybody remember him except me?” Rickon said, looking up at her then, a pleading expression in his eyes. “I try to remember the things Bran talks about from before, but I don’t, Mother. I just don’t!” He shook his head. “And I don’t think he likes me. I can’t even shoot a bow right.”

“Oh, Rickon!” She fell to her knees in front of him to put herself at his eye level, not caring about the snow on the ground. “Your father loves you more than you can imagine! He never wanted to stay away so long. He would have spent every moment with us if he had been able.” She bit her lip. “I know it’s hard to understand all that’s happened, sweetling, but trust me when I say that your father loves you no less than I do. And that no one loves you more than the two of us.”

Rickon frowned. “Lord Jon loves me,” he insisted. “I think he loves me more than . . .Father . . .does.”

Catelyn shook her head. “Jon does love you,” she assured him. “And he will miss you when he goes back to Last Hearth, just as you will miss him. But he does not love you more than your father does. I assure you he does not.” She sighed. “Your father is . . .he is a serious man, Rickon. And he has a great many things he must be concerned about now. And while he is a very brave man, some things do frighten him.”

Rickon looked at her with interest then.

“He is very frightened that his son will never love him the way he once did.” She paused to let him hear that. Rickon was only five years old, and she didn’t want to say more than he could understand, but she felt she had to try to explain some of it to him. “You have always been a brave and fierce little wolf, my boy, and when you were very small, you would always run after your father rather than me whenever he would let you. You rode upon his shoulders as often as you were carried in my arms, and you mimicked everything you saw him do. And that made him so proud and happy. He nearly always smiled when he was with you.”

“He never smiles,” Rickon said carefully. “Unless he’s smiling at you sometimes.”

“He knows you don’t remember those times, sweetling,” Catelyn said softly, “Even though he will never forget them. And he will not push his affection upon you if he feels you do not wish it. That has never been his way. And I know you are too young to truly understand all of this, but however you feel about your father now, you must never, ever doubt his love for you. And you must respect him, Rickon. You can do that, I know, and much can come of respect with time.”

He looked at her a long time, and she could only pray that some small part of what she had said might make sense to him. 

“I’m not a baby,” he said finally.

It was her turn to look at him silently.

“You said I was too young to understand. I’m not a baby,” he said firmly, although she could tell by his face and voice that he was unsure of himself.

“All right, then. I saw you shooting your bow with your Father and Lord Jon. I saw you leave, as well,” she said. “Am I right in supposing you did not allow your father to see you when he went into the godswood?”

Rickon’s eyes had grown wide with apprehension when she’d admitted seeing what had taken place, but he nodded.

“So what do you think you should do now?”

“Go and see him,” the boy said with a heavy sigh. “Apologize for throwing my bow down and running way.”

Catelyn raised a brow at him. “And?”

“For being disrespectful,” he muttered, reminding her for all the world of Robb at that age when he’d been caught in wrongdoing of some sort.

“Yes,” she said, and she hardened her voice just a bit when she said, “You were not just disrespectful to your father, Rickon. You spoke dishonorably of your House and all your lineage.”

“I did not!”

“You said you had no wish to be Stark.”

“No, I didn’t, Mother! I would never say that!” the little boy insisted.

“I heard you son. You said you did not want to be wolf, and went on to extoll the virtues of giants.”

“But I only . . . I didn’t mean . . . I am proud to be a Stark of Winterfell. Mama, you know I am!”

There were actual tears in his blue eyes now, and Catelyn struggled to keep back her own. She could not even recall the last time he had called her ‘Mama.’ “I know you are, Rickon,” she said softly. “But your father should know it as well.”

His lip still trembled, but he nodded resolutely. “I will tell him.” He threw both arms around his wolf and said, “Come on, Shaggy.”

“Do you want me to come with you, sweetling?” Catelyn asked, rising from her knees and only then becoming aware of the dampness which had seeped through her cloak as she knelt in the snow.

“No,” he said firmly. “I am a Stark of Winterfell. I can be brave.”

She smiled at her little boy. “Yes, Rickon. You can. And I promise you that you have nothing to fear from your father. Just talk to him.”

Letting her son turn and go back into the godswood with his wolf while she stood where she was proved to be one of the most difficult things she’d ever done, but when Rickon disappeared from her view, Catelyn offered a prayer for both her husband and her son and forced herself to turn and walk back toward the Great Keep.

She met the girls, Bran, and Hodor coming back from the maester’s turret, and invited them all up to her chambers to sit with her for a bit. Arya and Sansa ran ahead to have Bran’s chair ready for him, and Catelyn walked beside Hodor trying to listen to Bran’s animated retelling of whatever historical battle Maester Luwin had instructed him on today while her mind strayed continually to the godswood. 

Upon arriving to the Great Keep, she discovered that Brynden had awakened in her absence so she brought him to her room as well, and sent word to Roslin’s room that she was welcome to join them although she should not feel compelled to do so. Roslin declined the invitation, not surprisingly given the poor girl’s emotional state, but Catelyn spent the remaining time until the evening meal distracting her own thoughts from both her firstborn son’s journey toward White Harbor and war, and Ned’s and Rickon’s troubled relationship by surrounding herself with her other four children.

Neither her husband nor her third son had appeared before it was time to go down to the Great Hall, and she knew it was unlikely they had remained in the godswood the entire time. She wondered if they remained together, or if Rickon had run to Jon Umber while Ned had gone somewhere else to brood or simply busied himself with any one of his numerous responsibilities.

The older children had asked after their brother, and she replied simply that she hadn’t seen him since just after his archery session, but that she had left him with their father. It was nearly the truth.

When she entered the Great Hall with Sansa, Arya, Bran, Hodor, and two direwolves, she was relieved to see not only Ned and Rickon already present, but both Roslin and Jon Umber there as well. After a very brief greeting for her, Rickon immediately began telling his siblings about something Shaggydog had done while the black wolf greeted its siblings enthusiastically.

Jon greeted her with a courteous nod and Roslin gave her a tremulous smile as she said, “Lady Catelyn.”

“It is very good to see you here in the Hall, Roslin. I hope you were able to rest a bit this afternoon?” Catelyn said as she sat down between Ned and her gooddaughter. 

“A little, my lady,” Roslin said quietly. “It’s . . .difficult. But I know I am not alone. And I have to take care of Robb’s child.” 

Catelyn watched the girl’s pale hand flutter down to rest on her gently swollen midsection in a gesture that reminded her all too closely of herself during her pregnancies. “Your child, too, Roslin,” she said, with a warm smile for the girl. “And I assure you that we have every intention of taking care of both of you.” She turned to Ned then, who had returned their children’s greetings but not yet spoken to her although she felt his eyes on her. “Don’t we, my lord?” she asked him. 

“What? Oh . . .yes.” He leaned forward to look around her toward Roslin. “You are a Stark, Roslin, and we take very good care of our own.”

“Wolves are pack animals, you know,” Bran said then, in a voice much deeper than his natural one, an obvious attempt at mimicking his father. When Catelyn looked down at her son, she saw that his Tully facial features were arranged in a fair facsimile of what she had long ago labeled Ned’s ‘lord’s face’ as well.

All of the children broke into laughter at that, and it warmed Catelyn’s heart to see that they were becoming comfortable enough with Ned’s presence back at Winterfell to return to teasing him as they had in the past. Even Rickon laughed a bit, if not quite as readily or loudly as his siblings.

Roslin hid a smile in the mug she lifted to her lips, and Jon Umber coughed into his own tankard of ale. Even Ned’s eyes lightened as he surveyed the children seated before them. As the servants set plates down before them, she reached for Ned’s hand beneath the table. As their fingers closed round each other’s, he turned to face her and nodded almost imperceptibly.

“You are well, my lord?” she almost whispered.

“Aye,” he said, but he sounded tired and rather sad in spite of his amusement at Bran’s antics. He squeezed her hand and then looked back toward the children to ask Sansa and Arya what they had learned during their lessons today while their brother studied the habits of wolves. 

That made the children laugh again, and at least three conversations sprang up at once as everyone began eating. Ned was even more taciturn than usual, but he answered when spoken to, and even asked a few questions, primarily of the children. Rickon seemed in a reasonably good mood, but Catelyn noted he talked almost exclusively to his siblings, not truly conversing with herself, Ned, or Jon. All in all, dinner was not a terribly uncomfortable affair, but she was anxious to get through it and to have Ned alone in her chambers where he was more likely to speak to her of what had transpired between him and Rickon.

At long last, the meal was ended, she had seen all the children to bed (Rickon had not mentioned Ned at all when she’d tucked him into his bed, simply kissing her and telling her he didn’t need a song tonight), Brynden had been fed and tucked into his cot in the nursery, and she sat up in her bed watching her husband wearily remove his clothing. He had gone to his solar to finish up some correspondence while she’d seen to the children.

He sighed as he climbed in bed beside her. “Rickon tells me you saw us in the yard today,” he said as he leaned back, staring up at the ceiling.

“I was on the bridge. I wanted to watch him shoot, but I had no wish to intrude upon your time together.”

Ned made a sound that was almost a laugh except that there was no joy in it. “Mayhap it would have been better if you had intruded. I cannot do anything right where he is concerned, Cat. Not one damn thing.” The words were bitter.

“He is not yet six, Ned. He doesn’t . . .”

“He doesn’t remember me. I know that, damn it! I know that very well!” He sat up straight then, and she thought he would leave the bed.

She sat up straighter herself and laid a hand on the back he’d turned toward her. “I was going to say that he doesn’t understand all that’s happened, my love. He knows that your being gone was not your own doing, but he doesn’t understand exactly why you had to be gone so long. War, treason, the Wall . . .these are but words to Rickon, really. And your being gone did hurt, Ned. It hurt us all. And poor Rickon was so small. He knew only that he had a father who was there--who laughed with him and held him and made him feel safe--and then he didn’t.” Her husband didn’t speak or turn around. “You have to know it will take time for him to feel close to you again,” she whispered gently. “You’ve been away nearly half his life.”

“You think I don’t know that, Cat?” he said, turning around to face her. “My gods, the boy was shaking like a leaf when he came to me in the godswood today. He was actually afraid of me, Cat. Afraid of me!” He shook his head slowly. “He said his piece like a brave little man, though. He was very specific with his apologies, my lady. I suspect you had something to do with that?” He raised a brow questioningly.

“I spoke with him,” she confirmed. “But he said he needed to apologize. And he wanted to come to you alone. That wasn’t my doing.”

Ned nodded. “He was always a brave boy. Braver than I gave him credit for. Do you remember how irritated I got with him over the stupid wolf pup? The damn thing was nearly as big as he was even when we first brought it home, and I didn’t like his being even a little afraid of it. And look at him now! Gods! You can barely tell the boy from the wolf when it comes to fierceness!” He reached out and took her hand. “You would have been so proud of him, Cat. The way he stood up straight today and apologized like a man, even while his legs shook so badly I swear I could hear his knees knocking together. I was proud of him.”

“Did you tell him so?”

“Aye. But it isn’t my praise he wants. It’s Umber’s.” Ned’s voice deepened almost to a growl on Jon’s name, and Catelyn frowned.

“He does want your praise, Ned. He simply doesn’t know how to go about asking for it. As for Jon, he only treated Rickon as . . .”

“As a son!” Ned interrupted angrily. This time he did get up from the bed, pacing angrily across the room. “It isn’t enough that the man wants to bed my wife! He wants to take my son from me as well!”

“Ned, that isn’t fair!” Catelyn protested, angry now as well. “I heard you today saying that you should just send Rickon to Last Hearth with him, and I heard Jon saying no.”

“Oh, yes,” Ned said, turning to look at her again. “He said no today. But for moons, he did nothing but act as if Rickon were his son. He has my son telling me he’d rather be a giant than a wolf, Catelyn! Rickon is my son! The man had no business treating him as his own!”

“Stop it,” she hissed, climbing from the bed herself. “He never once pretended to be anything other than my husband. Jon reprimanded Rickon any time he so much as hinted that he was his father. He spoke always of you.”

“But he . . .”

“But he loved our boy? Yes, Ned. He does love our boy. Rickon is a lovable child, and what would you have had him do, my lord? Ignore him? Shun him? Offer him nothing but cold tolerance?”

She stood mere inches from her husband, and as his grey eyes bored into hers, she became aware that she indicted herself with her words--that she had accurately described her own treatment of Jon Snow, the child she had believed was Ned’s for so many years. She ignored the stab of guilt and stood her ground. Ned had never been pleased by her attitude toward his ‘bastard.’ She knew that well in spite of the fact that he’d rarely said anything to her about it. Perhaps his recollection of Jon Snow’s childhood in Winterfell would help him see that he truly would not have wanted Jon Umber to treat Rickon any differently than he did. She knew her husband. He would have his son be well and happy.

She saw the muscle in Ned’s jaw tense as they all but glared at each other in the dim light of the one nearly spent candle he’d left burning when he climbed into her bed. Then his face seemed nearly to crack into an expression of pure anguish. “Gods damn me!” he exclaimed, turning his back on her once more and running his hands through his hair. “Of course, I wouldn’t want that,” he breathed. 

She waited silently, and after a moment, he turned back around. “I want my son back,” he said simply, looking her in the eyes. “I want Robb safe at home. I want these white devils beyond the Wall to disappear and I want the Lannister devils in King’s Landing to rot. I want my life back, Cat. I want . . .us . . .to be us.”

Her heart went out to him, and she followed it, closing the small distance between them to hold him in her arms. “I know, my love. I know. And, gods willing, we will have all of those things.” She moved her hands to his face to hold it in front of hers. “And, Ned, you already have Rickon. It will take nothing but time together for the two of you to be as you once were. I promise. Jon will be gone soon, and Rickon will miss him. But you will be his father--the only father he needs.”

“I hope that’s true. I hope I am anything any of you need.”

The pain and insecurity in those words nearly stopped her breath. He rarely admitted so much self-doubt, even to her. And it killed her that he felt it.

“You are everything I need,” she said fiercely, and then she kissed him, silencing anything he might have said in reply. 

He returned her kiss with an almost desperate passion. It wasn’t the desperation of that first night when their hunger for each other after so much time apart had driven them. No. This was the desperation of a need to know that they truly were still all each other needed--that each could find succor and safety and a sense of completeness in the other--that they could disappoint each other and rage at each other and still come together and find themselves.

She had on only her shift, and he wore nothing but his smallclothes, and those impediments were quickly removed so that nothing remained between them save their skin as they fell back onto her bed, bodies entwined together so that she could not be certain where she ended and he began. She moved her hands over him urgently and felt his callused hands moving up and down her back from the nape of her neck to the curve of her arse as his lips pressed hard enough against hers to be nearly painful.

She didn’t try to turn away from his kiss, however. She welcomed it. She wanted him to possess her as completely as she needed to possess him. “You are everything I need,” she said again, when his lips finally left hers only to move to her neck. The words came out as little more than a hoarse whisper, all she could find breath for, but he heard them.

He answered her with a wordless, needy groan that was as much an exhalation of breath as a sound, and he raised himself above her just enough to position the tip of his cock at the opening of her sex and bury himself inside her. Catelyn shuddered at the sensation, and then wrapped one leg around his hips as he began to thrust, planting the foot of her other leg firmly on the bed and using it to push herself up to meet his every movement. She clutched his back so tightly, she feared her nails might actually draw blood, but he gave no indication that he wanted her to let him go. On the contrary, it seemed he couldn’t hold her tightly enough, either.

She couldn’t be certain if only moments passed or hours because time seemed to fade from her perception as did all the other concerns the day had brought them, until there was nothing but the two of them, nothing but their bodies striving together, luxuriating in each other, and finally pushing each other to a dizzying, heart stopping climax that left them gasping in each other’s arms.

Afterward, once their hearts had slowed and their breathing eased, he rolled off her and went to the windows, opening several of them without saying a word. She lay there watching him, feeling pleasantly achy and exhausted. He stood there briefly, letting the cold air hit his naked body, and she shivered, not from the cold, but from the memory of another night when she had watched him like this after their lovemaking. 

_This is not that night,_ she told herself firmly. _He will not be leaving me. We are now rebuilding what was torn apart._

“Come back to bed, Ned,” she said, pushing the echoes of that long ago night from her mind. “I am cold without you.”

He smiled. “Would you have me close the windows, my lady?”

She smiled back at him. “You needn’t close them as long as you promise to stay in my bed.”

He walked back to the bed and slid in beside her. She shivered as he pulled her against his now cool skin, and he chuckled. “That is a promise easily made and eagerly kept, my love.”

She lay her head upon his chest, and as she felt his fingers reach for her hair, she offered a prayer for the safety of their firstborn son and the wellbeing of all their other children. Then Catelyn Stark resolutely banished all evil memories from her bedchamber and fell asleep listening to the sound of her husband’s steady heartbeat.

Things were relatively peaceful in the castle over the next three days. Ned awaited a response from the Wall to his invitation to Selyse Baratheon and her husband’s virtual command that she come to Winterfell, and he counted the days until he he would send the letter to King’s Landing that would make their complete break with the bastard boy upon the Iron Throne official. They would declare themselves in open rebellion.

The letter meant little to Catelyn, in truth. The fact that her son was well on his way to White Harbor brought the meaning of rebellion home to her as no piece of parchment could. _My fourth war,_ she thought bitterly. _How is it that some live entire lives without a war, and I have now sent my husband or son to fight in four of them?_

She pushed that thought away, for it served no useful purpose, and she finished braiding her hair. Satisfied that she looked quite respectable, she sighed deeply and stood up from her dressing table. 

“I will see you in the Great Hall.” 

Ned’s voice revealed no emotion as he spoke. Or it wouldn’t have to anyone other than her. She knew him well enough to realize just how much emotion he was holding in check, and she turned to face him where he still reclined on her bed, unclothed and uncovered.

“I hope you intend to wear a bit more when you come down to the Hall, my lord,” she teased.

He smiled at her, although the tension did not leave his face. “I thought perhaps to entice you back into bed, and then we could go down to the Great Hall together.”

“I would be easily enticed on any other morning, my love. You know that well.”

He frowned at that, and she sighed. “I owe him this much, Ned. We both owe him more than we can ever repay, and I want to give him my thanks and bid him farewell. I’ve barely spoken to him since your return and . . .it isn’t right to let him leave without my speaking to him. You know that’s true.”

Ned made a sound somewhere between a grunt and a growl, but he didn’t disagree. “I confess the idea of your going to see the man in his bedchamber was not what I had in mind, my lady,” he said with only a slight edge to his voice.

She shook her head at him. “I’m not going into his bedchamber, Ned. I won’t have the entire castle talking about us any more than they already do. I’m going to take him into the godswood, as you well know. 

“I could bring him there.”

“No. You’ve spoken to him any number of times. You’ve both had ample opportunity to say what you need to say to each other. This is my turn.”

She walked over to the bed and kissed him lightly. “Now get dressed and go down to the Hall. I won’t be long.”

“I’ll come find you if you are,” he said rather sullenly, sounding for all the world like Rickon in a bad mood.

“You’ll do no such thing.” She held his hand a moment before turning to go. “And thank you, my love, for letting me do this.”

He made another grim face, but said nothing more as she grabbed her cloak and walked to Jon Umber’s room. 

It was very early, and few were up and about, but she knew Jon would be awake. He’d told them at the evening meal he intended to ride out very early with his men, and she’d already seen a couple of his men down in the yard with packs for the horses, just barely visible in the pre-dawn hours. He’d said his farewells to Rickon last night, and the boy had been tearful and difficult to put to sleep. Catelyn knew Jon wanted to ride out before he woke. In truth, Jon wanted to ride out with very little in the way of an official farewell from anyone.

She’d risen very early and hoped she would catch him still in his room. She knocked softly, and was answered by a gruff voice asking, “Who the bloody hell is out there?”

She suppressed a laugh, and called softly, “It’s Catelyn.”

After a moment of silence from the other side of the door, she heard heavy, booted footfalls which told her he was dressed at least, and then the door was suddenly jerked open to reveal Jon Umber, towering above her and staring at her as if not quite convinced she was real. 

“Catelyn,” he said after a moment. “Why have you come? I mean, come in, my lady.”

She smiled at him. “I don’t think I should come in, Jon. But would you care to take a walk with me?”

He stared at her another moment and then nodded, retreating into his room just long enough to retrieve his own cloak. 

He offered her his arm, and she took it. The two of them walked in silence out of the Great Keep. Once they were in the yard, they came across several people, and one of Lord Umber’s men looked at the two of them with a frankly questioning glance. 

“Lady Stark has need to speak with me,” Jon said in a tone that threatened violence if he were questioned.

The man asked him a couple questions regarding their impending departure from Winterfell which Jon answered as succinctly as possible, and then he allowed her to lead him toward the godswood.

“Are we likely to be met by direwolves, my lady?” he asked with a rueful smile. “I fear I haven’t a great many fingers yet to spare.”

She laughed. “The children all had their wolves sleep in their rooms last night and Grey Wind is gone with Robb, so your fingers are quite safe, my lord.” Ned had suggested that she might want to take at least one of the wolves with her this morning, but she decided not to mention that.

“Does Lord Stark know you’ve come to speak with me, Catelyn?” Jon asked her once they had walked a bit into the godswood. 

“Of course,” she said, rather more sharply than she intended. “I have no secrets from my lord husband.”

“No,” he said. “Keeping secrets is his business, not yours.”

She knew he spoke of Jon Snow and the mother Ned would never name. Of course, even that secret was no longer between her husband and herself, but she could not speak of that to Jon.

“I want to talk with you, Jon, because you have been a friend to me when I sorely needed a friend. But if you persist in maligning my husband, I fear I cannot speak with you at all.”

The big man sighed deeply. “Forgive me, my lady. Lord Eddard is a good man, and I know it well. Envy makes men petty, I fear. And gods forgive me, I do envy him.”

“I know,” she said, and somehow she managed to keep her voice even. She could not cry as she spoke to him this morning. It would only hurt him to see it.

She stopped them in a small clearing by a pool--not the clearing with the heart tree--that was Ned’s place. She couldn’t imagine speaking to a man who felt about her as she knew Jon did in front of Ned’s heart tree.

“Jon,” she said, facing him. She wanted to take his hands, but she was afraid that any physical contact as she spoke might be too much for him, and she had no desire to repeat the kiss he’d pressed to her lips in the solar. “I will miss you.” She held up her hand as he started to speak. “I know it is not the same way you will miss me, and I know you don’t want to hear me, but you will. Please do me the courtesy of listening to my words.”

He swallowed once and nodded.

“As I said, you have been a friend to me. More than a friend--a confidante, a helpmate, and a shelter. Our marriage was a sham, and yet you acted every bit as a husband should act in caring for my welfare, and Brynden’s, and Rickon’s. I couldn’t let you leave without hearing me say it, Jon. I do care for you. I always will. You deserve all the joy life can offer in this world, and I am sorry that I have given you pain. I never intended that, and it was unfair of me.”

“No,” Jon said thickly, unable to keep from interrupting at that point. “You were never unfair. Your husband was unfair, leaving you alone with child in order to keep a vow that should never have meant anything. And don’t tell me he didn’t know about the babe,” he said quickly, raising his own hands to keep her from interrupting. “He knew well enough that he bedded you. How in hell he left you after that, I’ll never know.”

“Jon . . .”

“And I’ve been unfair, too. I’ve pushed you, Catelyn. I swore to myself I never would, but gods help me, I couldn’t help myself. It’s dishonorable to want a wedded woman so, I know it. I do want to do right by you, I swear it. But I can’t do it when I’m around you. You . . .I can’t see anything but you, when I’m around you.”

“I’m sorry, Jon,” she said sadly.

“No. Don’t be. You’ve done nothing wrong, my lady. Eddard Stark has the truest wife in all the Seven Kingdoms. You’re his, all right, whether I want it so or not. Whether he deserves you or not. And I’ll do nothing to come between you.”

“You can’t come between us,” she said softly.

He actually chuckled softly at that. “Aye,” he said. “I know that well enough. Makes that promise easier to keep, eh?”

She laughed then, too, and realized she’d missed laughing with him. In those horrible early days at Last Hearth, when all she could see was darkness, Jon had made her laugh, and she honestly thought it had saved her life. It had certainly kept her sane.

“I have to go,” she said. “Will you come to the Great Hall with me?”

He shook his head. “I’ve said my farewells. The only person I’d thought to leave without speaking my piece was you. I should have known you were too stubborn to let that happen.”

“You shouldn’t ride out on an empty stomach,” she argued.

“I’ve plenty to eat, my lady. Do I look like a man who’s willing to go hungry?”

She smiled at him. “No. I know you better than that.”

“You know me better than anyone, I think. And I know you better than most, although I’ll concede that Lord Eddard knows you even better, and I don’t mean . . .”

“I know,” she said hastily, hating the blush that colored her cheeks, and hoping that it might appear only the redness brought on by the cold. “I really do have to go, Jon. Please . . .ride safely and take care of yourself.”

“I will. You take care of yourself.” He paused. “I have no plans to return to Winterfell, Catelyn. But if you ever need me . . .for anything . . .”

“I know. Be happy, Jon. Please tell me you’ll try to find the happiness you deserve.”

“Take care of the wolf pup, my lady. He is all wolf, you know, for all he looks like a trout,” Jon said, refusing to even acknowledge her plea for his happiness.

“I know he is,” she said. “But he’ll never forget you, you know.”

Jon shrugged. “I’m always at Last Hearth if he ever has need of me. When he’s older, that is.”

She nodded. “I know. So does Rickon, and so does Ned. And we are all grateful for that.”

“Give wee Brynden a goodbye kiss for me, will you? I’ve hardly seen the babe since we’ve been at Winterfell, but I’ll miss that little man as well.”

 _How could you not?_ Catelyn thought miserably, thinking of how Jon had taken the newborn Brynden and held him up to all the people waiting in the corridor outside her room at Last Hearth and proclaimed him his son. _Gods, what a mess we’ve made of your life, Jon,_ she thought, but she only said, “I will. I promise.”

They stood there for a few moments, simply looking at each other, unsure of what else to say. Then Jon reached out and took her hand. Formally, he bent down and pressed his lips to the back of it. Then he straightened and said, “You are beautiful, Catelyn. And I shall never forget your face. Now go, my lady. Your lord husband no doubt awaits you in your Great Hall.”

Catelyn simply nodded, afraid that the tears she’d successfully kept at bay would overwhelm her if she tried to speak. She squeezed the hand he still held tightly and then turned and walked from the godswood toward the Great Hall. 

Her heart was heavy at Jon’s departure, and she knew the guilt she felt over what she and Ned had put the man through would never leave her. In spite of that, as she entered the Great Hall and saw her husband look up and smile to see her come in, she knew she would do it all again. She was Ned’s and he was hers, and there was very little she wouldn’t do to have him and their children with her. Her husband walked to meet her and she took his arm, marveling at how right the simple gesture felt. As he led her to her seat beside his, she prayed that their long suffering truly would come to an end soon with a quick victory in the new rebellion and Robb’s safe return. She prayed for Jon’s safety both during his journey to Last Hearth and in his subsequent forays along the Wall in defense against the Others. _Please gods,_ she prayed, _Bring all of us a measure of peace._


	20. Eddard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many apologies for the shamefully long delay in updating this story. It is now my top priority as far as fic is concerned and will be updated AT LEAST twice a month until its conclusion. I thank all of you who've continued to let me know you care about "Vows, Kept and Broken" during its extended hiatus. I assure you I know how the story ends, and I absolutely will finish it. I hope this new chapter is worth the wait. :)

“Tell Ennys to do whatever he thinks best,” Ned Stark said testily, waving a hand vaguely at Winterfell’s maester.

“He wants to be certain that his plans for the new growing area within the glass gardens meet with your approval, my lord,” Maester Luwin said in a maddeningly patient voice.

“For the gods’ sake, Luwin! I am Winterfell’s lord, not its steward,” Ned snapped. “Why has he sent these questions to me rather than to Marcus Anders? The man seems competent enough, so have him do his job.”

In fact, the man Robb and Catelyn had appointed steward was more than competent, but Ned couldn’t help thinking guiltily of Vayon Poole, dead in King’s Landing on his account, whenever he saw the man performing the duties he still thought of as Vayon’s. The fact that no one had heard anything of Vayon’s daughter since she’d been taken from Sansa’s room in King’s Landing sometime after his arrest only added to Ned’s guilt.

“He does his job, my lord,” Luwin said in the same steady tone, ignoring Ned’s irritation. “But since your return to Winterfell, our people feel somewhat compelled to come directly to you. Many of them are new to their positions since you left Winterfell with King Robert, and they want to learn your preferences.”

_Many of them are new . . . because their predecessors came with me to be slaughtered in the Red Keep . . . or marched with Robb to die fighting for my freedom._ The bitterness of it was almost too much to take at times. “Ennys isn’t new, dammit!” he said, standing up and slamming his hands onto his desk which caused several pieces of parchment to flutter. “I had no need to take my gardener to King’s Landing to die at least.”

He turned and stalked toward the window. The leg didn’t bother him nearly so much now. It had been just over a moon’s turn since Robb had ridden out with his force of Northmen to accompany King Stannis’s army to White Harbor, and Catelyn had fed him, coddled him, and insisted upon Maester Luwin seeing to all of his wounds—old and new—on a far more regular basis than Ned had ever had them tended at the Wall. As a result, he felt both more fit and more frustrated by his idleness than he had in a long time.

There had been no word from Robb as of yet. Ned knew it was likely too soon. His son had promised to write once they reached Runestone, but all the men had agreed that no ravens would be sent from White Harbor. No one expected any great difficulty in White Harbor, and it was hardly prudent to send out a raven that might go astray simply to say that all was going as planned. Or even to say that Stannis’s ships had been delayed in arrival or any other sort of mundane thing that could delay their sailing. No. His son would write when they had real information on the state of the Vale from Yohn Royce and actual plans for Dragonstone and beyond. He had to be patient. He had to wait. Unfortunately, he was discovering that waiting did not come easily at all to him.

“You led no one to their death, Lord Stark.” Maester Luwin’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “No one could have predicted the depth of the Lannisters’ treachery.”

Ned turned around to face the man who had served Winterfell so well for more than fifteen years now. “Shouldn’t I have? After the letter from my lady wife’s sister? Bran’s fall? Certainly, I should have been far more wary of Cersei Lannister once I learned of her own crimes.” He shook his head. “Those men were mine. I was their lord. They were mine to protect, and instead I failed them.”

Luwin chose not to contradict him then. He simply looked at him rather sadly.

“Is there anything else, Maester Luwin? Or are we finished here?”

“What shall I tell Ennys, my lord?” the man repeated.

Ned sighed heavily and returned to his desk, picking up a piece of parchment upon which Winterfell’s gardener had written several proposals for how to apportion the area of the glass gardens which Catelyn had decreed should be given over from flowers to the growing of food crops. He knew how she loved her flowers and hated the idea of taking them from her, but as his eminently practical wife had pointed out, if winter truly did last as long as summer had, the southern blooms she’d carefully cultivated would not survive even in the glass gardens in any event. She’d proposed keeping only a small plot of the hardy winter roses, and he knew that was as much for him as for her. She knew he thought of them as Lyanna’s. Catelyn’s insistence that the other flowers and ornamental plants be taken out to make room for things which could be eaten had paradoxically turned the Great Keep into a vision of summer as cut flowers now decorated nearly every room. The Great Hall was similarly adorned with greenery and bright blossoms, and while Ned shook his head at it, he’d not been able to deny her when she’d said there was no point in letting the blooms go entirely to waste. And his children did seem rather enchanted by the flowers although he feared they’d be sorry to see them inevitably wither and die.

“That one,” he said, stabbing his finger at one of the options on the parchment. “Tell him that one.”

“Very good, my lord,” Maester Luwin said. Ned knew the man was perfectly aware that the choice he’d made was arbitrary, but he’d looked at all the proposals and couldn’t really muster any enthusiasm for slightly more or fewer leeks versus turnips or anything else. Ennys was good at what he did, and he wouldn’t have proposed any plan that didn’t have merit. Once, he would have simply come to Ned himself and told him what he thought should be done with the gardens, and it bothered Ned that a man who had known him—had worked for him—for years now treated him as if he had possibly become a different man.

_I am a different man,_ he thought bitterly. _The Eddard Stark he once called lord would not sit in his castle smelling flowers while one son rides to war and another holds the Wall against monsters._ Jon had not written, either, and that irritated Ned to no end. Jon Umber had intended to tarry at Last Hearth no longer than necessary before taking men to reinforce the Night’s Watch and Maege Mormont was doing the same. Yet no word had come from any of them calling for aid or requesting his assistance in anything. He prayed that meant that all was quiet north of the Wall. Yet, if all was quiet north of the Wall, then why the hell wasn’t he with Robb?

“And Maester Luwin,” he said tiredly. “Tell him to run my choice by Marcus, please. It will fall to him to see that we don’t starve this winter, and if he’d rather have more of one vegetable than another, I will defer to him in that.”

The maester actually smiled at him then. “I will tell him so, my lord. I don’t believe I have anything else for you at the moment.”

“Good.” Realizing how short that sounded and that Maester Luwin did not deserve his ire, he added, “And I thank you. You have, as always, been of great assistance.”

The small man smiled. “You remind me of young Rickon when he assures me he is grateful for the time I spend with him in lessons, my lord.”

Ned couldn’t help but laugh briefly at that. “I suppose it is true enough that I like some of the tasks you bring me no more than Rickon likes his lessons, but I assure that I, at least, am truly grateful for your assistance.”

“Yes, my lord,” the maester said, still smiling. He then bowed his head briefly and took his leave, carrying a number of parchments with him.

When he had gone, Ned looked at his desk and frowned at the still too many sheets of parchment that remained. He wondered where Catelyn was. She’d been in a bit of a frenzy lately preparing for the arrival of Queen Selyse and her daughter. They were expected to arrive from Castle Black with their escort at any time now, and Ned couldn’t honestly say he was looking forward to their coming. At least the red woman had elected to remain at the Wall. While he felt some sympathy with Jon on that score, Ned had admitted to himself he was relieved she would not be at Winterfell. Something about the woman and her intense convictions unsettled him.

Deciding that he couldn’t look at another piece of parchment just at that moment, he decided to go out and speak with Harwin in the stables or Mikken in his forge or anyone really, as long as it gave him reason to leave this solar. While he couldn’t escape the constant worry about events far from Winterfell, he could at least escape these walls.

Snow was falling when he stepped opened the door and stepped into the courtyard, but there were many people about. He noted that most of them were moving in the general direction of the Great Hall and realized it must be nearly time for the midday meal. He shook his head, wondering how the morning could have disappeared so quickly. As he debated continuing on to the stables as he’d planned or going back inside to see if he could find Catelyn and escort her to the Hall, he was hailed from the direction of the Maester’s Turret.

“Father! Were there ravens? Is that why Maester Luwin wasn’t at our lessons?”

He turned to see Arya bounding toward him. Rickon followed her as quickly as he was able, and Sansa came more slowly, walking beside Hodor who carried Bran.

“No, Arya,” he said, ruffling her untidy hair before pulling the hood of her cloak up. “The maester and I simply had a great many things which needed the the attention of us both. And it is far too cold to be going bare headed. Who had the pleasure of instructing you this morning?”

Arya rolled her eyes. “I’m only going to the Great Hall. And Septon Chayle lectured us about the history of the Faith which was deadly dull except for some of the bits about the Warrior’s Sons. And Maester Luwin had left us sums to do—everyone except Rickon, that is. He had to work on his letters with the septon’s help.”

“I have no doubt you did well with your sums,” Ned told her. Arya had always been good with numbers. “And how about you, young man?” he asked Rickon who had just run up to them. “Was the good septon pleased with your letters?”

Rickon twisted his mouth and looked very uncomfortable. Ned hated that simply speaking with him brought that expression to his son’s face far too often. “He says the letters I write remind him of Robb’s. I thought that would be a good thing, but he looked like it wasn’t.”

Ned laughed out loud. “I fear your eldest brother does not have the tidiest penmanship, Rickon. He never has. While I would be most pleased to have you emulate him in almost any other aspect, I would rather you model the penmanship of any other sibling.”

He’d been smiling as he said it, meaning only to make a small jape at Robb’s expense, but Rickon scowled. “I don’t model it after anybody! The stupid quill doesn’t make even lines, and it drips ink, and my fingers don’t like to go the way Septon Chayle makes me hold it. I do better holding it my way, and Maester Luwin lets me but Septon Chayle wouldn’t listen and . . .”

“He recognizes all his letters, Father,” Arya interrupted quickly as Ned stood there helplessly before the boy’s increasingly frustrated and angry tirade. “He knows all their sounds, too, and is reading some already. Isn’t that right, Rickon?”

Rickon didn’t say anything, but he did stop railing against the evils of using a quill properly. Ned smiled at Arya in gratitude. “That is excellent, Rickon,” he said sincerely. “I look forward to hearing you read something to me soon. A man who can read has all the knowledge that has ever been written down open to his discovery. I am proud of you.”

Rickon didn’t quite smile, but he sounded considerably less upset as he murmured, “Thank you, Father.”

Sansa, Bran and Hodor had now reached them as well, and Ned heard a musical laugh coming from behind him. He turned to see Catelyn walking arm in arm with their gooddaughter who was now very large with child.

“I was unaware we were meeting in the courtyard for our meal,” she said with a smile. “If it’s all the same to you, I’d prefer to go on into the Hall where it’s undoubtedly a bit warmer.”

“It isn’t cold, Mother,” Rickon protested. “And it’s barely even snowing!”

“Mayhap not for you, little wolf, but I assure you that Roslin and I find it quite cold enough.”

Roslin gave Catelyn a small smile, and Ned was pleased to see it. Smiles from the young woman had been exceedingly rare since Robb had gone. “I’m afraid I certainly find it cold out,” she agreed softly.

Rickon gave a sort of long suffering, exasperated sigh which caused everyone else to laugh, but then the little boy very gallantly offered his arm to his goodsister. “Come on then, Ros. Let’s go inside and eat.”

Ned didn’t correct him on proper form of address when he saw Roslin let go of Catelyn and smile as widely as he’d seen her smile in days and reach for the offered arm. 

“Thank you, kind ser,” she said courteously, and the two of them walked as briskly as her swollen belly let them go toward the Great Hall.”

“Did I hear you tell Arya there have been no ravens, Father?” Sansa asked softly as Rickon and Roslin walked away.

“Yes, Sansa. I am sorry, but we’ve had no letters at all today. I have promised you I will show you any letters from King’s Landing, and I meant it.”

She looked down. “I want a letter to come from Robb, too,” she said. 

“As do we all,” Catelyn said softly. “Let’s go and eat, children.”

Ned offered Catelyn his arm as the children and Hodor turned toward the Hall. It occurred to Ned then that the only children coming from the Maester’s Turret had been his own. “Where are your wards, my lady? And Howland’s children?”

Catelyn sighed heavily. “The Walders do not willingly go to lessons, I’m afraid. Maester Luwin hunts them down, but the septon is rather inclined to leave them to their own devices, I’m afraid. They wear the poor man out. And I fear that I’ve been rather remiss about disciplining them since my return. When I was Lady Umber, I was uncertain of my authority, and I had no wish to have them writing their father of irregularities here. I fear they grew even more disagreeable than they had been during my time at Last Hearth.”

“Did Robb not discipline the boys?” Ned asked, feeling that he likely should have asked this question before now.

“I’m certain he did what he could, my love, but he had a great deal thrust upon him quite suddenly with my departure and his own marriage soon after. The Frey boys had always been primarily my responsibility.”

“Well, now they are mine,” he said firmly. As she started to protest, he said quickly, “I know you took them on, Cat, but you took them as wards to House Stark. It is I who have been remiss, my lady. I should have taken it upon myself to know them better before now, and if it takes the strap to get them to behave as they should, that certainly must fall to me rather than you.”

“You’ve been busy, my love. Entirely too many things have needed your attention.”

He made a derisive sort of noise. “If I’m to hide behind castle walls while other men fight, the least I can do is maintain authority within those walls,” he said bitterly.

“Ned,” Catelyn sighed. “You aren’t hiding. You are . . .”

“Lord Stark!” 

At the shout, Ned looked up to see Howland Reed’s boy running toward them. His sister followed at a walk. When he reached them, the boy hastily bowed his head. “My lord. My lady,” he said courteously if somewhat breathlessly.

“What can we do for you, Jojen?” Ned asked him.

“Bran,” he said. “Is he still at lessons or . . .”

“Bran is in the Great Hall. It is time for the midday meal,” Catelyn interrupted him somewhat shortly. “You and your sister should go and eat as well.”

The boy nodded. “Thank you, my lady.” He looked up to see that his sister was still following and then ran in the direction of the Hall.

Ned moved to follow him, albeit at a slower pace, but Catelyn stopped him. “You asked where they were,” she said. He turned to look at her once more. “The truth is that I do not know where they are half the time. They never attend lessons, and as they are at least nominally guests here, unlike the Walders, I cannot compel them to do so. They keep to themselves. They do spend a great deal of time in the godswood and they spend an inordinate amount of time with Bran.” She pressed her lips together into a narrow line. “Once I thought that was a good thing. They seemed better companions for him than either Frey boy, and he seemed to enjoy their company. But now I am not so certain.”

“What do you mean?”

“Have you not noticed how quiet Bran has become?” she asked him. “Did he say anything at all to you just now?”

Ned thought a moment and realized that Bran had spoken not a word. He had seemed more silent and reserved somehow since Robb’s departure, but all of them worried for Robb. “No, he didn’t.”

“He scarcely speaks to anyone now, Ned, except for the Reeds. And I am not certain what to make of that.”

“I am certain it is nothing, Cat,” he assured her, but even as he said it, he wondered if he spoke truly. He’d written Howland, wondering at the presence of both his children in Winterfell, but he had yet to receive a reply. He considered Howland Reed one of his closest friends and would trust him with his life. He had entrusted him with his greatest secret. But that secret had necessitated also keeping the man at a distance all these years. Living with the lie had been difficult enough without having the only living person who knew the truth visiting Winterfell with Jon and Catelyn both present. He’d never even seen Howland’s children until he’d arrived to find them here. Truthfully, he could not fathom a reason for the man to have sent Meera and Jojen to Winterfell, seemingly to stay indefinitely, and it did concern him. There were many things about his friend the crannogman that he did not know or understand, but there was one thing he knew quite certainly. Howland Reed rarely did anything without reason.

“You don’t believe that,” Catelyn said, looking at him closely.

It seemed all their time apart had not lessened her ability to read his face. He sighed. “I am not certain why they are here, Cat. That is all. I wish Lord Reed would answer my letter. Hells! I wish any number of people would send me letters, but I hear only from those with nothing of import to say.” He shook his head. “But I do believe Bran is only worried for his brother. And likely feeling the loss of his own legs when so many men ride to fight. He did love to train with a sword. Remember?”

Catelyn nodded. “I remember,” she said sadly.

“It is no wonder if he is quiet sometimes. I am glad he does have friends who draw him into conversation. And Howland certainly wouldn’t send them here for ill, my love. I know him well, remember.”

“And I know him not at all,” she said somewhat sharply. 

Whatever she saw in his face at her words made her own expression soften slightly. “But hopefully, you are correct, my love. Let’s go in and eat before our children have devoured everything.”

He took the peaceable end to the conversation she offered and walked with her into the Great Hall.

While the meal passed pleasantly enough, he’d scarcely taken leave of his wife to go to the stables when he spied Maester Luwin hurrying toward him. He debated pretending he hadn’t seen the man, but then he noted the rolls of parchment tucked beneath his arm and remained where he was.

“Letters, Lord Stark,” the smaller man said when he reached him. “Three ravens arrived in the past hour.”

“From?” Ned asked.

It seemed the maester hadn’t opened the letters, but in response to Ned’s inquiry, he held up one of the rolls of parchment. It bore a direwolf pressed into grey sealing wax.

_Robb._ He nearly snatched it from Luwin’s hand and bid the man go fetch Catelyn, but then it occurred to him that the letter did not necessarily contain good news. If anything ill had happened to their son, he’d rather Cat hear it from his lips than read it on cold parchment. Roslin, too, he thought belatedly. The girl was Robb’s wife. He would have to summon her to hear it as well.

“Let’s go to my solar,” he said softly to the maester.

They had barely entered the solar and Ned had not even removed his cloak when he held out his hand and said, “Give me Robb’s letter.”

“There is another . . .” Maester Luwin started, but he was smiling and already handing over the parchment with the direwolf seal before Ned could even interrupt to ask again.

Ned grabbed it and tossed his cloak carelessly aside as he went to his desk to read. When he broke the seal and unrolled the letter, he laughed out loud with joy and relief to see the untidy scrawl he had so oft lamented. His son had written this himself. Robb had been well enough to pen his own letter on the day this raven took flight.

He sank into his chair and began to read.

_Father,_

_I am well. Please give Mother my love. I doubt my child has arrived yet, but I know it will be soon. My prayers are ever with Roslin and our babe and I trust you and Mother to look after them both._

_I write this from Runestone, and I haven’t much time for we sail again as soon as the ships are loaded. We had no difficulties in White Harbor other than having to wait nearly five days there for King Stannis’s ships to arrive from Eastwatch. All of the Houses summoned to this venture have sent men. Lord Karstark has come himself, and while he is sullen and not as respectful of me as he should be, he has caused no great problem. He speaks loudly about coming himself rather than sending his heir because Harrion has been held prisoner already and his other sons are dead. Lord Bolton did not come, Father, although he did send men under his banner. I have had no reason given me for his absence except to have it pointed out that he is not the only lord to remain in his castle. If his men follow my orders and serve well, I choose not to make an issue of it, but I advise you to watch the man._

_Yohn Royce has proven as loyal a supporter as you said he would be. He is with us as are several other Houses of the Vale with a good many men. The news is not entirely good here, however. We will not stop at Gulltown for Lord Royce informs us that it is controlled entirely by men loyal to Lord Petyr Baelish._

Ned nearly dropped the letter as he came across the hated man’s name. He could still feel the tip of Baelish’s dagger pressing against his throat. Jon Arryn had given Baelish some position in Gulltown before he was ever made Master of Coin but how the devil could the man control the entire port? And where was he? Jaw set tightly, he continued reading Robb’s letter.

_I know not if Mother has ever had word from her sister, but it seems that Lysa Arryn has wed Lord Baelish, and the man has declared himself Lord Protector of the Vale on behalf of my cousin Robert. The official position of Lady Lysa and her new husband is that the Vale shall remain neutral in this conflict, but Father, we know that Baelish is with the Lannisters! We know how he betrayed you to them in King’s Landing. I know not what game he plays here in the Vale, but Lord Royce says he has also apparently been named Lord of Harrenhal by the Lannisters. To what purpose, I cannot say. But I’ve no doubt he works against our purposes in whatever he plans._

_There is better news. Dragonstone is not well defended. All reports Lord Royce has heard indicate the entire Redwyne fleet is indeed gone to fight Euron Greyjoy’s reavers, and that only a very small force of men remains on the island itself. Such is King Stannis’s confidence in his ability to easily take Dragonstone, he now plans to split our army. The king will sail all of his vessels and some of Lord Manderly’s ships to assault Dragonstone while Lord Royce and I shall lead all of the Vale men and the majority of the Northmen in taking ship for Maidenpool. The King has sent letters requesting fealty and aid to Uncle Edmure and his bannerman, and he tells me that he hopes to find more honor in my uncle than in my aunt. If the River Lords join with us, we will have a great force within an easy march of King’s Landing. Even if they do not march with us, we have a good number of men, and I have assured the king that at the very worst, Uncle Edmure will not fight against us. So once the king has taken Dragonstone, we will be able to come at King’s Landing by land and sea._

_We will have victory, Father. I only pray it may be a quick one that I might return home to be with all of you and to hold my child._

_Your faithful son,  
Robb_

Ned slowly lay the letter down upon his desk, wishing with all his heart he was with his son now. If they had truly left Runestone on the day this letter was sent and had reasonably fair weather for the journey up the Trident, it was possible Robb and his men were already in Maidenpool in the time it took the raven to reach Winterfell. He prayed that they were, for once such letters were sent out across the Riverlands, it was impossible word would not reach King’s Landing. And no doubt whoever held the true power in King’s Landing would send some force northward to trouble Edmure’s lands once more in an effort to discourage the river lords from joining Robb and to do what damage they could to the force from the North and the Vale before they ever reached King’s Landing. Ned would dearly like to know how the letters to Edmure and his bannermen had been worded, but he doubted any mention had been made of the impending attack on Dragonstone. Stannis was too clever for that. No, he would want the Lannister puppet on the throne and his handlers distracted. If all the defense of King’s Landing was concentrated on the army coming from the North, the capital might be easier to take from the coast. It wasn’t a bad plan from a strategic point of view, but Ned despised it. Robb was being put in a vulnerable position, and that was not what had been discussed prior to Stannis and Robb departing from Winterfell.

“Gods damn the man!” Ned muttered under his breath.

“My lord?” Maester Luwin asked cautiously.

Ned had nearly forgotten the maester was present. He simply pushed the letter in his direction and stood up, turning to pace toward the window. He stood there, looking out into the courtyard, mentally calculating the time it would take to gather more men and ride to Maidenpool himself. They could follow the Kingsroad as far as Darry and then . . .

“My lord?” came the maester’s voice again, interrupting Ned’s ruminations. He looked up to see the man looking at him. “Shall we send a letter to Riverrun as well?”

Luwin must have finished reading the letter. Ned sighed. “I suppose so. Although, Edmure’s had Stannis’s letter long enough to be doing something already. We’ll pledge our strength to his defense should he come under attack, though, in case he needs more assurance to act.” He shook his head. “Damn Stannis Baratheon! He knows I have no choice in that now. He put my son out there knowing that would force my hand!”

“The king knows you must reserve men for the threat from beyond the Wall, my lord,” Maester Luwin said. “He agreed to it.”

“Aye, he agreed to it,” Ned growled. “But he doesn’t truly know what threatens from beyond the Wall, Maester Luwin. No one does who hasn’t seen those things. His concern is the Iron Throne.” Ned walked briskly back toward his desk and grabbed Robb’s letter from where the maester had laid it down again. “My son is fighting to get him that Iron Throne. But I cannot forget about what lies to the North. I can’t!” Sinking down into his seat once more, he put his face in his hands and rubbed his temples with his fingers. “Write to Edmure,” he said tiredly after a moment. “And promise him our support as I said. For he shall have it. Robb’s men will remain in the south as long as the Riverlands are threatened shall they join with us. And if we need to send more men . . . I’ll find them. Gods know where, but I’ll find them. And keep men here to support the Night’s Watch. I only wish I knew what was happening at the Wall. I need to hear from Jon.”

“Mayhap you should open your second letter then, my lord,” Luwin said quietly. 

Ned’s throat felt tight as he took the parchment, sealed with the plain black wax used by the Night’s Watch. He’d hoped for a letter from Jon for some time, but somehow the arrival of this letter at the same time as Robb’s seemed forboding. Without a word, he broke the seal and read.

_Father,_

_I fear things grow more difficult here by the day. Queen Selyse and her daughter departed with her men some time ago, and if they have not reached Winterfell yet, I expect you shall be greeting them soon. I had hoped her departure would ease some of the tensions among my men, and it has to a small degree. Her grace could be rather demanding at times, and she did not easily accept that Castle Black is not a castle with such amenities or formality as she is used to. I expect she shall be much happier in Winterfell. I hope so._

_However, tensions here continue to worsen for a number of reasons. I no longer send men any distance north of the Wall for any we have sent have not returned. We have seen none of those fell creatures here, and for that I am grateful. But twice more, we have had dead men rise and walk in the night because no one burned their corpses._

_My men grumble loudly about the wildlings who have come across after surrendering to us and are wont to blame them for any ill happening including the fact that the dead do not seem to remain dead easily here anymore. On their part,many of the wildlings, or free folk as they prefer to be called, are openly hostile to my men, and fights break out often. I have done my best to keep them separate, going so far as to assign the free folk who are with us to their own waycastles, but the grumblings increase._

_And there are more of them, Father. More free folk wishing to cross. I cannot house them. I cannot feed them. But shall I leave them to die? I know not what these Others will do, but I do know that anyone north of the Wall is in mortal peril. I have given some thought to allowing them to settle on parts of The Gift if they agree to terms. They would be left to fend for themselves with winter coming, but that is not so different from any of our own people who live in the northernmost parts of your lands._

_The men you have sent to aid in the defense of the Wall are appreciated, but I fear they hate the free folk as badly, if not worse, than the men of the Night’s Watch do. I broached the subject of settling some of the people in The Gift with Lady Mormont, she was vehemently opposed. She assured me the plan would find no support among any of the northern lords. But what am I to do with these people?_

_I fear the fighting on this side of the Wall among supposed allies may become as fierce as that to the North. I seek your counsel, Father. And I may require your intervention with your lords. I am worried for what may come. And the Lady Melisandre with her nightfires and her constant talk of a great battle against evil does not help matters here. I wish she had gone with her Queen for she unnerves many of the men. Others have become rather more devoted both to her and her red god than I would like._

_There is danger here, Father. And I cannot be certain from what direction it will strike first._

_Jon Snow, Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch._

As Ned laid the letter on the desk, the last two lines struck him. Jon had greeted him as father and used that word to address him throughout. Yet he signed his letter with his formal title rather than as Robb had done. _Your faithful son, Robb._ Was Jon’s formality the result of the knowledge he now held? Did it come from knowing he was Rhaegar Targaryen’s seed and not Ned’s true son at all? Or was it simply an echo of the formality that had always been there to a certain extent, born of the years he’d lived with the title bastard, knowing that he could never share with Ned all the things that Robb would? Ned preferred not to dwell too long on such questions, and the gods knew there was more than enough worry to be found in all the words of Jon’s letter.

“Read it,” he said heavily, pushing it toward Maester Luwin. 

Then he left his desk again, this time pacing back and forth in the solar as he thought of his two boys both facing dangers far from home. Far from him. It wasn’t right. Robb’s peril was one Ned understood well. Battle was a hell he’d walked through more times than he cared to remember, and it never got easier. Death was guaranteed to prey on victors and vanquished alike, and he could only pray it would not find his son. Jon’s peril was less well defined. Ned wasn’t certain there was a defense against those things beyond the Wall. Not if they truly came in large numbers. He prayed the Wall itself would somehow be enough to turn the tide. As for the difficulties facing Jon on this side of the Wall, such infighting and maneuvering reminded him far too much of his days in King’s Landing as Hand of the King, never knowing whether the move he made was correct or not. Never knowing whom he could trust. He would wish such a trial on no man, least of all his son. _Why am I here, and not beside them?_

“What do you wish to do, Lord Stark?” came Luwin’s voice, irritatingly calm as he asked the question.

“What do I wish to do?” Ned turned to him angrily. “I wish to saddle a horse and ride for both Maidenpool and the Wall! I wish to throttle Stannis Baratheon for sending my son into the Riverlands without so much as discussing it with me. I wish to find a way to send the Others back into the legends where they belong and the wildlings back to their so-called freedom north of the Wall! Can you advise me on how to do all those things, Maester Luwin?”

Luwin simply looked at him silently, waiting for the storm to pass.

After a moment, Ned sighed. “I shall have to respond to Jon, of course. But I confess I am not certain what I wish to say.”

“Would it not be good to send letters to your lords as well? At least to Galbart Glover, Maege Mormont, Jon Umber, and perhaps Harrion Karstark at the Karhold as well. Give them a chance to tell you their specific concerns with wildlings being allowed to settle in The Gift.”

“I know their specific concerns,” Ned growled. “I share them.” He shook his head slowly. “But having let the wildlings cross, Jon must do something with them. And it isn’t right to send them back across—not knowing what we do. And how does he turn away any more who come asking for refuge?” He rubbed his face with his hands. “But damnation! The wildlings cannot expect to come into our land and not abide by our laws! And therein lies the problem, Maester Luwin, for I cannot see them kneeling or pledging their fealty to me as their liege.”

“That is why the Wall exists, my lord. The wildlings are violent and without law. It may be that they cannot be integrated into a lawful society.”

Ned sighed. “That may be true of the wildings. But that is not why the Wall exists. I realize it is hard for you to believe, Maester Luwin, but the Others are real. And they are far worse than anything I ever imagined as a boy listening to Old Nan. They are the reason Brandon built the Wall, and I pray to the gods he built it well enough.”

“I’ve never known you to be a man given to flights of fancy, my lord. If you tell me you have seen such creatures, I believe you.”

Ned gave him a small smile. “I thank you for that, my friend. And your suggestion that I write to the lords and Lady Mormont is a good one. I’ll take some time to craft a response, however. Who is the third letter from?”

For a moment, Luwin looked puzzled, but then recalled the still unopened parchment he had. “Oh! This one is from Lord Robb as well, but it is addressed to his lady wife. I merely wished to ask you if it was all right to give it to her.”

Ned smiled a bit more widely then. “Of course it is. You needn’t ask my permission to give Lady Roslin letters that are meant for her.” Recalling that Robb was now in the Riverlands and that Roslin’s father was the river lord Ned considered most treacherous, he added. “Not letters from Robb, at any rate.”

“Yes, my lord. Shall I take it to her now, or do you have further need of me?”

“No, Maester Luwin. I’ve no more need of your assistance at present. Take Roslin her letter, but please have my own lady wife sent here.”

Luwin bowed slightly and left Ned standing in the solar staring down at the two letters lying atop all the other parchment on his desk. _They are both standing with courage and honor,_ he thought. _Facing their foes as they must. And what am I doing?_

Lost in his troubled thoughts, he did not hear her come in.

“Ned? Maester Luwin said you have need of me.”

He looked up to see his wife in the doorway, a rather concerned look on her face as she beheld him standing there. He tried to conjure a reassuring smile as he beckoned her in. “We have a letter from our son, my lady,” he said.

“Robb? Is he all right? Oh, Ned, is he safe?” She’d nearly run to him as she spoke, her voice breathless—hopeful and fearful all at once.

He put his arms around her. “He wrote the letter himself, Cat, from Runestone. He was uninjured and whole, I assure you.” _He is not safe,_ he thought miserably. _But you know that as well I and do not need to hear it spoken aloud._ “Come and sit by me, and I’ll let you read his letter for yourself.”

When they were seated he took her hands. “Cat, I spoke truly about Robb. He was well, and I have faith he still is. But . . . he wrote some things that will be difficult for you to read.”

He saw fear once more cloud the blue eyes he loved so much and felt her hands tremble in his. “Difficult?” she asked, hesitantly.

“Troubling,” he said. “Would you have me simply tell you or do you wish to read it?”

She bit her lip and then looked at the parchment lying on his desk. Robb’s letter lay open and he saw her face as she recognized his handwriting. “Give it to me,” she said, reaching for it as if reaching for her child.

Wordlessly, he handed it to her and watched the way she cradled it in her hands, closing her eyes briefly as if she actually held Robb. He found himself wondering if she had cradled his own letters in similar fashion. Not during Robert’s Rebellion for she had barely known him then. But later. He had written her only twice throughout the Greyjoy Rebellion, not because she hadn’t been in his thoughts—she was never out of them—but because he’d had little opportunity. Seeing how Robb’s letter affected her now, he wished he’d made the time to write her more frequently.

He watched her eyes move back and forth as she read their son’s words and saw her brow knit into a frown, no doubt as she reached the words about Karstark and Bolton. Then her hand flew to her mouth, and he saw tears come to her eyes. 

“Oh, Lysa! What have you done?” She looked up at him. “What has she done, Ned?” she whispered.

“It appears she has wed Petyr Baelish,” Ned replied, stating the obvious. “Likely that is why she does not reply to your letters. She must know you wouldn’t approve.”

“But how could she? After what he did to you!”

Ned took his agitated wife’s hand once more. “I doubt she knows all of what transpired in King’s Landing, my love. You said yourself that your sister keeps herself isolated in the Eyrie from everyone. Baelish could have spun any tale he likes for her.”

“Gods help her, Ned. She always cared more for Petyr than she should, but . . . marry him? I cannot believe she would be so foolish!”

“It would seem he has more influence over her than you thought. I only wish I knew what he was playing at. Did you read that the Lannisters gave him Harrenhal as well?” Ned shook his head. “It would seem he never had an interest in actually going there, however.”

Catelyn snorted. “He needn’t go there when he has the Eyrie. It’s far more defensible. No . . . I’ll wager he wanted Harrenhal only for the title it brought him.” She looked at Ned evenly. “Petyr was ever an ambitious boy. And Lysa is proud. However fond she may be of Petyr, she’s a daughter of House Tully and Lady of the Eyrie. She would never wed a lord of such low standing. Petyr used that title to get Lysa.”

“You believe the man wanted your sister that badly?”

She frowned. “He wanted what she could bring him, anyway. When I think back on how Petyr was with us as children . . . as we all grew up together in Riverrun . . . I see him differently in light of what happened in King’s Landing. He swore he loved me then, Ned, when he challenged Brandon to that stupid duel. And I pitied him. Because I had always considered him a brother of sorts. But if he ever truly loved me at all, he could not have done what he did to you. And now I question everything he ever said or did.” She shook her head. “No, Ned. I don’t think he wants my sister at all. For whatever reason, he wants the Vale.”

“Whatever he wants, I fear we are in no position to do anything about it at the moment,” Ned said softly. “I do not know how it will affect him to learn that so many of the Vale lords are acting in defiance of him . . . or how that will affect your sister. But it is good that Robb has more men with him. And he couldn’t ask for a better man than Yohn Royce.”

Catelyn nodded somewhat absently, looking toward the window. “I fear for her, Ned. And now I fear to trust her. She struck me as nearly mad when I was with her in the Eyrie, but I couldn’t imagine her intentionally setting out to do me or mine any harm. But if she is with Petyr and his words are suspect, then can hers be trusted any better? Can we believe anything she says if she does return my letters?”

“I am afraid not, my love.” 

Catelyn looked back at him with a rather stricken expression on her face, and he longed to give her some comfort.

“Mayhap she can be separated from him,” he said. “Once the Lannisters fall, he will lose a good deal of whatever power he’s managed to acquire, and mayhap he will fall.”

“I don’t want Lysa to fall as well, Ned. She is my sister.”

“I know, my love.” They sat there looking at each other, and then he prodded her gently. “Did you finish the letter?”

“No,” she whispered, and he watched her sigh as she forcibly drew her thoughts away from her sister and began to read again. After a brief moment, he watched the fire come into her blue eyes, “The damned man! He’s managed to force Edmure into rebellion now whether he’s ready for it or not! And he’s set Robb out for slaughter in the bargain!”

“I’m certain he intends to draw Edmure in, all right,” Ned said evenly, “And I’ll not say I’m pleased by his sending Robb to lead an army into an area that at least nominally isn’t in this conflict yet. Yet our son does have an army with him, Cat. And Yohn Royce is no stranger to leading men into battle.” He was, of course, as angry as she was about the situation, but he sought to comfort her.

“Robb’s no stranger to leading men into battle either,” she said grimly. “But I’d rather him be assaulting Dragonstone with Stannis than dropped into the Riverlands vulnerable from any number of potential foes.” 

His wife was no fool, and while she had no love of warfare, she understood battle strategies far better than many men he had met. “We have to trust that he knows the dangers, Cat. And that he’ll be on guard against them. Bronze Yohn will be a boon there. And he’s many good, brave Northmen with him.” _Would that I were one of them,_ he thought bitterly.

She nodded, biting her lip. “And his wolf. I know you don’t truly believe me, Ned, but that wolf acts as if it is an extension of him, especially in battle. I do feel better knowing Grey Wind is by his side. Had you seen the two of them together when we rode south with his army before, you would know what I mean.”

“I believe you, my lady,” he said shortly. His mild amusement at how rapidly his resilient wife had gone from needing reassurance to attempting to reassure him was tempered by yet another reminder that this was indeed the second time his son had ridden south to war, and that he still had never seen his firstborn prepare for battle—had never fought at his side. “What I saw north of the Wall has made me far more likely to believe any number of improbable things.”

She looked at him closely a moment, and he knew she was studying his face for clues to his thoughts. He did his best to keep his expression blank although he knew from experience that he could hide little from her. She only sighed heavily after a moment, and asked him if he’d shown Roslin the letter yet.

“She has her own. I sent Maester Luwin to give it to her.” His jaw tightened slightly. “I didn’t read it, Cat, but I cannot imagine Robb’s not telling her where he sails. Her father is one man I do not wish to hear of Robb’s army’s presence in the Riverlands before it is needful. I hope I did right in allowing her to read it unwatched.”

“You wonder if she can be trusted, you mean,” Catelyn said, tilting her head slightly. “She can. She loves him, Ned.”

“I know she seems fond of him, Cat, but she is a Frey, and I simply wonder if . . .”

“She is a Frey,” Catelyn interrupted. “And I wondered, too. You know we told her nothing of Brynden’s true origins until we made it known to everyone. Upon my return to Winterfell, Robb spent more time with me than with her—plotting and planning. Except at night, of course. And she knew I had his trust and she did not. And she resented it. Yet, she did not allow her resentment to poison what was between them. I believe she has proven where her loyalties lie. You did right to send her letter to her unopened. It will let her know we see her as Robb’s wife rather than Walder’s daughter, and that will give her strength and comfort in his absence.” She held out the letter in her own hands. “I’ll show her this one as well. Likely, it will say little of importance to her that he did not put in her own letter, but she will want to see it anyway. She will want to touch anything that has been in his hands and read any words that come from his mind, no matter for whom they are meant.”

He looked at her quizzically.

“I always did,” she said softly. “Whenever you were gone from me.”

He remembered the leap his heart had taken when he’d seen the letter with direwolf seal indeed was written in Robb’s hand. “I should have written you more often,” he said, reaching to take her hand.

“You were busy defeating villains and defending the realm,” she said.

Her words were spoken lightly, but they struck him painfully. “And now I do nothing! Damnation, Cat! I should be with him!” He rose suddenly from his chair and walked away from her. “He’s led men before, you say, and I know he has. But I wasn’t with him then, either! What kind of man sends his son to fight his own battles?”

“You were in prison, Ned! That’s why Robb had to . . .”

“Then, yes!” he shouted, whirling to face her. “But what of now? I see no shackles on my hands or feet. Winterfell’s gates are not barred against my leaving. What excuse do I have now?”

“The North,” she said. “You must protect the North, Ned. We all discussed it before Robb and the king ever left.”

“And do you see me protecting the North, Cat?” he thundered on. “No. Jon protects the North. Lady Mormont has ridden north to the Wall. Even Jon Umber, damn the man, is leading men north of Last Hearth! While I sit on my arse in Winterfell!”

She stood then and looked him in the eyes. “You have good reason to be where you are, my lord, and if you cannot see that, I cannot make you.”

“I would ride to Robb’s side today, Cat. I swear I would,” he told her in a voice that sounded half strangled. “But . . . read this.” He stepped back to his desk and thrust Jon’s letter at her.

She continued looking at him for a moment and then sank back into her chair to read the entire letter in silence. He forced himself to sit back down as well as he waited for her to finish. When she finally looked up at him, she had an odd, tight expression on her face.

“He still calls you Father.”

“Aye,” Ned said, swallowing. _Is that truly what concerns her most in this letter?_ he wondered angrily. It wasn’t fair of him really. He had taken note of it when Jon began to call him Father again at the Wall, and he’d noticed the greeting of the letter immediately as well—with joy and pride. If Jon’s addressing him as such caused Catelyn pain instead, he had only himself to blame for that. “I am the only father he’s ever known, Cat. Even if he does now know he’s Rhaegar Targaryen’s child.”

She bit her lip hard and nodded. “So will you go north then?” she asked him. “It sounds as if the boy is struggling.” He frowned at her characterization of Jon as a boy, and she relented a bit. “He is in a difficult position. The threats he faces are many, and it seems none of his options for the wildlings are good ones.” 

Ned nodded. “The gods know I don’t want wildlings living in the North, Cat. They cannot be trusted, whatever Jon thinks he knows of them. Yet, if he doesn’t let them cross, they’ll continue to attack. What choice do they have? Desperate men have nothing to lose, and those creatures make a man desperate. If you and the children were on the same side of the Wall as those White Walkers, I’d fight any force on earth to get you across to safety, and I cannot see the wildings doing less, however barbaric they may be.”

“No,” she whispered.

“I’ve no doubt the Night’s Watch could repel them, now that they are reinforced by as many Northmen as they have black brothers, but I’ve no stomach for slaughtering women and children. And it’s wasteful of men as well. It’s foolish for our men to spend their strength battling wildlings when they are not the true threat.”

“So you will go north then.” She tried to keep her voice even. He could tell that she did. But he heard the accusation in it all the same. _You will ride to your bastard’s aid before you will ride to our son’s._ She knew Jon was not his bastard, but he supposed it was foolish to think that knowledge could simply erase so many years of bitterness.

“No,” he said simply, fighting to keep his own voice even. “Not yet. I need to know more of what Edmure will do for Robb and how many of his lords are likely to heed him if he does call them. Your brother’s bannermen are a contentious lot, Cat, and you know it. And I need to learn more of what my own bannermen feel about wildings in the Gift. Oh, they hate the idea, I know that,” he said when she gave him a look that clearly said, ‘You know perfectly well how they feel.’ “But I would like to hear their specific fears and concerns—to know which are reasonable and which are not, which I might find a way to allay and which I cannot.” He sighed. “Unfortunately, I can obtain that information best by ravens sent from and back to Winterfell. So here I must remain for the present.”

“And is it such a terrible thing to be here, my lord?” she asked him. She used the formal address to mask her hurt but he heard it plainly enough.

“There is no place I would rather be on this earth, my lady, particularly as you and all our children save Robb are within these walls. But I would be lying to you if I told you I would not be both in Maidenpool and at the Wall if I could. I seek the comfort of your arms and your bed each night and I am glad of it, but in the morning I go to the Great Hall and see Roslin heavy with Robb’s babe and remember that he lies on the cold ground with no bed and no wife beside him. And it shames me.”

She looked at him for a long while as if she didn’t know how to reply. Her face, usually so expressive was carefully closed off. Finally, she stood. “It would seem the Queen and her daughter might arrive at any moment, if the Lord Commander’s letter is correct. I will take Robb’s letter and show it to Roslin and then make certain Her Grace’s rooms are well prepared against her coming. I shall see you in the Great Hall at the evening meal, my lord.”

She stood then, and walked to the door. When she reached it, she turned back to him. “You have spent years of our marriage in peril, Ned, and we have spent years of it apart. I am not ashamed of my gratitude to have you here with me now.”

“Cat, I didn’t mean that I . . .”

“And you are welcome in my bedchamber again tonight . . . if you don’t find the idea too shameful.” She turned then and walked out.

“Cat . . .” he started to say, but she was gone.

He sat in his chair staring at the door she had closed behind her. He could not help either of his eldest sons, and he had hurt his wife. “Damn!” he swore, bringing his fist down onto the desk. He was angry, frustrated, and felt as useless as he’d ever felt in his life. But with the entire fifth-finger side of his hand still stinging from the impact with the wood, he rose and stalked out of the solar in search of Maester Luwin. The Lord of Winterfell had letters to write, and in his present frame of mind, he doubted he could craft coherent sentences without the maester’s assistance.

He and the maester did manage to get any number of letters crafted and sent off by the time the evening meal was served. Catelyn did not return to his solar, nor was she in her chambers when he went to seek her, so he set off to the Great Hall on his own, both hoping and fearing to see her there. He’d hurt her, he knew, but he’d spoken honestly to her. It did shame him that he rushed to her bed so eagerly each night, forgetting in their shared passion that his sons, his men, and so many other men went without such pleasures defending the North and fighting for King Stannis under Stark banners. It wasn’t her love that shamed him, but his own inaction. He could list the reasons for his remaining in Winterfell as easily as she could. But none of them silenced the voice from somewhere deep inside him which called him craven. Nor did they keep him from the guilty knowledge that after so many years away, the very thought of leaving Cat and the children left him almost unable to breathe. They’d been lost to him. He’d done all he could to cut them out of his mind and heart and succeeded only in cutting holes in his soul ever deeper and impossible to fill. Now, miraculously, he had them all back and he felt whole for the first time in a very long time. _I am a craven,_ he thought desolately. _I fear losing myself once more._

She was there, seated with their children around her, laughing at something Rickon had said as Ned walked into the room. She looked up at his entrance, though, as if she had felt him come in, and the smile left her face. The children’s eyes followed hers to where he stood just inside the door, and the two girls both called out greetings. Bran sat engrossed in conversation with the Reed children, and Rickon merely looked irritated that he’d taken Catelyn’s attention away from him.

“My lady, children,” he said in greeting as he approached them. “It gladdens me to see you all here together.” It did. Whatever else troubled his mind, the knowledge that Catelyn and five of their six all benefitted from the food, warmth, and safety of Winterfell gladdened him considerably.

“Come and eat, my lord. We have waited for you.” Her voice was formal, but not cold, and he tried to smile at her.

“You needn’t have waited, my lady. I would have you all eat.”

“That’s what I said!” Rickon insisted emphatically.

Catelyn’s admonishment of “Rickon Stark! Mind your manners!” was nearly lost in the sound of laughter from both girls. Even Lady Roslin, who sat with them, smiled at the boy’s remark.

“We haven’t waited long, my lord,” Catelyn sighed. “If we had been, I fear you would have encountered far more unruly offspring. “Come and take your seat.”

He did as she asked, and laid his hand upon her thigh beneath the table. He was gratified to note that she neither tensed nor attempted to move his hand away.

“Cat . . .” he started to say softly.

She covered his hand with her own. “Let it be, Ned,” she whispered. “Neither of us meant harm. I know that, and so do you. Let it be.”

She wasn’t entirely at peace with their earlier conversation then, but for the present she simply wished to move beyond it. He could accept that, and he nodded. Dinner was a fairly sedate affair, but not unpleasant for the most part. Roslin positively glowed when she thanked Ned for sending the maester to her with Robb’s letter for her, and she thanked him just as sincerely for allowing her to read the one addressed to him as well. It seemed Catelyn had been quite correct in her assessment of what that gesture would mean to the girl.

“Do . . . do you wish to read my letter, my lord?” she asked hesitantly, and he noticed the slight flushing of her cheeks. She did not color as brightly as Catelyn did, but he recognized her blush for what it was and smiled at his gooddaughter. 

“No, my lady,” he assured her. “I have written to my own wife on occasion, you know, and I doubt that my son intended his letter for any larger an audience than I did.”

“Thank you, my lord,” she said. Her cheeks remained slightly pink, but she met his eyes without looking away. “He said nothing in it of his plans or the king’s that was not in your own letter. He wrote very little of those things in mine, in fact.” She pursed her lips a moment. “He did say he is hopeful for a swift victory.”

Ned watched her hand go to the full roundness of her belly as she spoke those words. “Young men are always hopeful for swift victories, my lady,” he said gently. “I fear this war will take longer than Robb would have it, but I do believe he shall have his victory. The king’s strategy is a sound one, and Robb knows how to lead men in battle.”

She nodded in gratitude at what assurance he was able to give her, but her face bore a troubled expression. “Not all of Lord Edmure’s bannermen will answer his call,” she said softly, turning almost apologetically toward Catelyn. “My father . . .”

“Your father will likely call his sons and grandsons with all the men in their command to simply sit and wait at the Twins while he decides which way the wind is blowing,” Catelyn interrupted rather severely. “And my brother will be too busy gathering his own men to support your husband to take the old man properly to task for it at the moment.” She frowned. “We can merely pray that none of Edmure’s other bannermen are influenced by Lord Frey’s dishonorable behavior.”

“I am sorry, my lady,” Roslin said quickly. “I wish that my father would honor the alliance my marriage created, but I fear you are likely correct as to what he shall do.”

“Oh, he’ll honor it, all right,” Ned said grimly. “I’ve written him myself today. I’ve no doubt he’ll keep his men sitting on his arses as long as he can, but he knows he can only do that for so long.”

Roslin’s eyes opened more widely, and Catelyn raised a brow. 

“I wrote Lord Reed as well,” he said flatly, looking at both of them. “His people can move through the swamps with ease and harass the Twins at leisure, melting back into those swamps at will. The Freys cannot possibly pursue them there. I’ve reminded Lord Frey of that fact.”

Catelyn’s eyes went briefly to where Bran sat, his auburn head bent forward in close conversation with the two darker heads of the Reed children. “Lord Reed will do as you ask?” she questioned mildly, and he knew she was thinking of the unanswered letter concerning the purpose of Jojen’s and Meera’s presence here.

“Aye,” Ned said firmly. He was certain Howland would obey him in this. The man kept his thoughts almost entirely to himself and did many things for reasons that he chose not to explain to anyone, even Ned. But his loyalty to House Stark was absolute. Ned didn’t doubt his friend in that for a moment. “He will. He can’t take the Twins, mind you. But he can make it damned near impossible for riders and ravens to get in and out of the place without a great deal of trouble. I’ve written Edmure my intent regarding this as well.”

Catelyn nodded approvingly, and Ned turned back to Roslin. “You have no need to apologize for your lord father’s actions—or lack of action if it comes to that. You are wed to my son, my lady, and you carry his heir. You will one day be the Lady of Winterfell in truth, and whatever your blood, you are not the Lord of the Crossing. Nor are you responsible for him.”

The girl seemed surprised but pleased by his words, and no one spoke anymore of the Freys. The children seemed to have already heard of Robb’s letters from Catelyn and Roslin and asked him little about them. When the meal ended, Catelyn took his arm to walk out with him and the two of them went to bid all of the children goodnight in their chambers together before he went to sit with her in the nursery as she gave Brynden his last feed of the day. They remained largely silent there, but it was a comfortable silence. He didn’t think he’d ever tire of watching her with one of their babes at her breast, and he wondered idly if Brynden would be their last or if the gods would see fit to give them another. He’d thought for a long time that Rickon would be the last when Catelyn hadn’t gotten with child for more than three years after him, but it seemed he had been wrong. And he knew women years older than Cat was now who had borne children. As he watched her long hair fall down over their son as she hummed softly while he suckled, he felt suddenly very warm, contemplating the act which brought those children into being. As much he loved Brynden, he found himself wishing the babe would be filled and fall asleep so that he might take the babe’s mother back to her bed.

It must have shown on his face for she looked up at him and smiled. “He is nearly finished, my love.” Her voice was warm, and the invitation in her eyes was clear enough. She offered him no reproach, yet her earlier words came back to him: _And you are welcome in my bedchamber again tonight . . . if you don’t find the idea too shameful._ He was ashamed then, both of how he’d hurt her and of how desperately he wanted to stay with her when courage and honor demanded that he do something more than send letters in the aid of his sons. Her smile faltered, and he silently cursed her ability to read him so well.

“Give him to me, my love,” he said softly, fighting to keep any hint of his own concerns out of his voice. “It seems he is full now. Let me take him to pat his back and then put him down, and then I should like very much to go with you to your room.”

She looked at him very closely, but then handed him the babe. When he laid the sleeping infant in his cot, she’d put her hand on his arm and raised upon her toes to kiss his cheek. “Come, Ned. Take me to bed,” she whispered.

And so he did, allowing himself to once again escape his own fear, doubt, guilt, and anger in the bliss of her embrace. 

They were awakened early the next morning by word of a rider from the north who’d come to the gates before dawn to report that Selyse Baratheon would arrive by midday.

Catelyn immediately swung into a frenzy of activity, and when Her Grace, the Queen arrived at Winterfell’s gate, she could not have asked for a more courteous formal welcome. The entire household had assembled in the courtyard along with the men-at-arms. Ned stood at the front with Catelyn on one side of him and Roslin on the other. The children were all lined up on the other side of Catelyn except for Brynden, whom she held in her arms.

Everything had been prepared. Every courtesy was observed. Yet, as her man assisted her down from her horse, Selyse Baratheon’s face wore a disapproving frown.

“Welcome to Winterfell, Your Grace,” Ned said, dropping to his knee. “The castle is yours.”

Beside him, Catelyn dropped into a deep curtsy which he found rather impressive, given the squirming babe she held.

The Queen’s eyes went to that babe as she approached. “Thank you, my lord,” she said while continuing to look at Brynden. “And praise the Lord of Light that for his protection on our journey in this godforsaken land. What you call a Kingsroad between here and the Wall is more a goat track covered with snow. We couldn’t even manage a wheelhouse.”

“We are pleased you arrived safely, Your Grace,” Ned responded diplomatically. He could feel Catelyn starting to shake a bit beside him as the woman hadn’t bid them rise. Courtesy notwithstanding, he rose himself and took Cat’s arm to assist her in rising as well. “May I present my lady wife?”

“Welcome, Your Grace,” Catelyn said courteously. “We are honored to have you here. I hope you find the rooms we’ve prepared for yourself and the princess to your liking.”

The Queen stopped staring at Brynden long enough to look up at Catelyn then. “They can hardly be worse than our rooms at Castle Black.” Dropping her eyes back to Brynden, she said, “He does indeed look like Lord Stark, doesn’t he? How fortunate.”

Ned very nearly said something regrettable to the queen as he saw the color rise in Catelyn’s cheeks, but she spoke too quickly. “Well, I confess I was pleased about it,” Catelyn said sweetly. “All our other sons tend to favor me. As we’ve each a daughter who favors us, I thought it only fair that my lord husband have a son who favors him as well.” She smiled brilliantly, and the Queen actually looked almost contrite.

“You do have a good number of children, Lady Stark.” She didn’t sound condescending at all then. If anything, she sounded wistful, and then she turned to beckon at the girl who had also dismounted but remained standing silently beside her horse. “Come, Shireen, and greet our hosts.”

The girl obediently walked to stand beside her mother. “The Princess Shireen Baratheon,” the Queen said. “Heir to the Iron Throne.”

Catelyn curtsied to the child just as she had to her mother, and Ned followed her example by bowing deeply. Princess Shireen smiled at Catelyn and said, “Thank you, Lady Stark.”

Catelyn returned the smile, and said, “What beautiful blue eyes you have, my princess. True Baratheon blue, aren’t they?”

The girl’s smile widened, and Ned felt ashamed. He hadn’t noticed her blue eyes at all, although they were striking. He’d been too distracted by the stiff, grey skin on one side of her face. He prayed Rickon would not comment upon it as the Queen and her daughter moved down the line to greet the Stark children after being introduced to Roslin. He thought Shireen Baratheon was of an age with Arya, but she was certainly taller, he noticed, which was hardly surprising given her Baratheon heritage. He thought of the letters the Lannisters had sent out suggesting that the girl was not Stannis’s and found himself angry on her behalf as well as on behalf of her mother. No one could look at those eyes and doubt that she was a Baratheon. He shuddered to think that the same terrible things would be whispered about Brynden and Catelyn—likely already were. He’d been ready to call the Queen out for her discourtesy, but he supposed she’d spoken truly enough. They were fortunate in Brynden’s appearance for it was the best defense his wife and son had against vile insinuations.

Both the Baratheon ladies were obviously cold and tired, and Catelyn quickly saw them to their rooms once the formal welcome had been made, and Ned did not see them again until the evening meal. He supposed they both slept. Certainly lying in real beds within Winterfell’s warmth after however many nights spent camped along the Kingsroad must appeal greatly to them. Travel between the Wall and Winterfell was not pleasant even for Northmen at winter’s approach. For a southron lady and girl, it had likely seemed nearly unbearable.

The Queen and her daughter did look much better rested when everyone assembled in the Great Hall for the evening meal, and while Selyse made several disparaging comments about the fare served as it compared to what she was accustomed to in the South, she did declare it far better than anything they’d had at Castle Black. Shireen announced rather emphatically that she liked her dinner very much which earned her an appreciative grin from Arya, and likely prevented Arya’s saying something entirely discourteous to the Queen. Ned had carefully watched his younger daughter’s scowling face during the woman’s commentary on the shockingly primitive state of civilization in the North, and had noted his wife doing the same. While none of them appreciated the woman’s remarks, they both knew Arya was easily the one most likely to be provoked into an angry response.

Shireen’s declaration seemed to diffuse her anger, however, and Ned was gratified to see the two girls begin what appeared to be a genuine conversation after that with smiles on both parts. Sansa was primarily engaged in conversation with Roslin, likely about preparations for the baby judging from the expressions on their faces, and Bran, as usual, spoke almost exclusively to the Reeds. The Frey boys, who had not missed an appearance at meals or lessons since he’d had a conversation with them sat with some of the men at a nearby table, poking each other as they ate, and occasionally trying to get Rickon’s attention.

As Catelyn was successfully engaging the Queen in polite conversation, Ned decided to get Rickon’s attention himself. 

“How were your lessons today, Rickon?” he asked him.

Rickon looked up from his plate as if almost startled to be asked a question by his father, and that bothered Ned. He wished he had more time to devote to knowing his little son better. He wished he knew better how to even go about it.”

“Good,” Rickon said after a moment. “They were short today because of having to stand out in the courtyard and welcome Queen Selyse and Princess Shireen.”

Ned smiled at him. “Ah. When I was your age, I would have considered any lesson that had been shortened a good thing as well.”

“I taught Shaggydog a new trick,” the boy said suddenly. “At Last Hearth, Smalljon told me I should teach him to fetch the arrows I shoot and bring them back to me, but he can do that easy. I told Smalljon I’d teach him how to catch an arrow in the air.”

“That’s a dangerous proposition, Rickon,” Ned cautioned him. “Shooting arrows at Shaggydog is as likely to injure him as it is to train him to catch.”

Rickon rolled his eyes. “That’s what Smalljon said, but I told him I wouldn’t shoot the arrows _at_ him. I’m not stupid. I’d shoot them away and have him leap at them from the side. He told me even a direwolf couldn’t leap that fast.” Rickon grinned at him proudly. “He was wrong.”

Ned raised his brows. “Your wolf can truly snatch arrows from the air?”

Rickon nodded vigorously. “Almost every time now. I can show you. When I am a man grown, I’ll go to war like Robb does with my wolf at my side. And no one will be able to shoot me with arrows because Shaggy will protect me.”

Ned was dismayed by his son’s eagerness to go to war, but knew Rickon didn’t truly know what it meant. Certainly before he ever rode to battle, Ned would need to disabuse him of the sense of invulnerability his youth and his wolf gave him. For the moment, however, he decided simply to be impressed by the child’s prowess as a wolf trainer. “I would very much like to see that, Rickon. It is too dark now. Mayhap you can show me tomorrow.”

Rickon nodded. “I wonder if Grey Wind can catch arrows. He rips mens’ arms off if they try to get to Robb. The Walders told me. Shaggydog could do that, too, I bet. He’s strong and fast, and can take down a stag by the throat.” He spoke as if this were an experience to be relished.

“Yes, well I hope he will never have need to do any such thing to a man, Rickon.”

Rickon looked at him carefully. “It’s all right if he does. If it is a bad man. I will fight the bad men with him. I’m going to be as brave as my brother Robb!”

Ned tried not to take the child’s words as a reproach. As brave as his brother. Not his father. He was pleased Rickon admired his brother. Robb was worthy of admiration, and of course, he did fight with a direwolf at his side. Rickon would certainly wish to emulate that. Yet, sitting safely in his Hall, surrounded by women and children, Ned found himself once more angry at himself over his own inaction—his own continued safety—and he spent the remainder of the meal in relative silence.

Selyse Baratheon sought him out fairly early the next day, finding him in his solar.

“Your wife tells me you had letters from your son? The one who fights beside the King?” she said without preface.

“We have, Your Grace,” he replied as he stood to greet her.

“Was there not one from the King?”

“No, Your Grace.” She looked somehow disappointed at that, and Ned wondered if she’d expected Stannis to write her here. He recalled how it hadn’t even occurred to Stannis to wait at the Wall until her arrival, and wondered once more about the nature of their marriage. “Robb wrote that he had very limited time. It is likely the King had even less as this entire venture is in his hands.”

Selyse Baratheon nodded. “His Grace is ever mindful of his duty. He will not fail. The Iron Throne is his by rights, and he will defend it.”

_He has to take it first,_ Ned thought, but he felt it wisest to leave that unsaid. Instead, he pulled Robb’s letter from a drawer in his desk and offered it to the Queen for her perusal, gesturing to one of the seats before his desk. He sat back down when she sat and waited patiently for her to finish.

“And you do think this is a good plan, Lord Stark?” she asked, and he realized somewhat to his surprise that she seemed genuinely interested in his opinion. 

“It is very well thought out, and has an excellent chance for success.”

“Why did you not go with him?” she asked suddenly. “You have sworn him your fealty, have you not?”

Ned tried to keep from scowling. _Why did I not go with him?_ “I am the King’s man, Your Grace. My son and heir rides to King’s Landing with a great portion of the North’s strength. Yet, I cannot ignore the threat from beyond the Wall.”

She frowned. “That is what the Lady Melisandre says. She did not wish the King to go south. She told me as much. I told her that he must claim his rightful throne. It is his destiny. But she insisted that the destiny of Azor Ahai is to defend us all against the Great Other who comes from the far north.” Selyse Baratheon shuddered. “Is that the threat you speak of, my lord?”

Ned recalled when the priestess had told him that Stannis Baratheon was Azor Ahai who would defeat the Great Other. Selyse sounded very much like her when she’d repeated her words, but he detected a slight hesitance in her voice when she asked her question.

“Well, I do speak of Others. And wights. For I know them to be real, would that I did not.”

Selyse Baratheon nodded. “The King will vanquish them,” she said. “Lady Melisandre has seen it in the fire. But first he must claim the throne which is his. I know that.”

Ned nodded, uncertain of how to respond to that. While he would certainly be glad of any and all assistance Stannis Baratheon could provide, the man was now on a ship to Dragonstone if not assaulting the fortress already. The North was Ned’s to protect. His, the Northern lords, and the Night’s Watch.

“The wildlings are a terrible problem,” Selyse said then. “Barbarians, most of them, although some have a bit of intelligence. Your bastard is much preoccupied by dealing with them. And I can’t say I agree with all of his decisions. Nor does His Grace.”

_My bastard. Is it so difficult to give Jon the title he has earned?_ “The Lord Commander endeavors to do the best he can, Your Grace,” Ned said carefully. “His present concern is the defense of the entire realm from a threat much greater than any posed by wildlings.”

Selyse Baratheon snorted. “On that point, we agree. However, he still concerns himself far too much with the wellbeing of these wildlings. They are not a part of the Seven Kingdoms, and needn’t fall under our protection. Jon Snow would do well to heed His Grace’s counsel in such matters.”

“With respect, Your Grace, the Night’s Watch is not under the authority of the King in this. The Night’s Watch takes no part in internal disputes within the realm, and the Lord Commander has the right to act independently regarding threats from without.”

She frowned at him. “He looks like you, and I see that he gets his stubbornness from you as well. That new babe of your wife’s looks very like him. I saw it at once although I would not say such a thing to her. You certainly cannot deny either of them.”

“I thank you for that kindness to my wife,” Ned said stiffly. “And I have no intention of denying any of my children.”

“A woman hardly wants reminding of her husband’s bastards. I am thankful the King is above such base behavior. And you did deny that babe your wife has now for awhile. You allowed Lord Umber to claim him, did you not?”

Ned did not wish to have this conversation with Selyse Baratheon. “My lady wife did what was needful to protect our son,” he said through clenched teeth. “Is there anything else you have need of, Your Grace?”

The Queen looked at him a moment. “When Lady Melisandre told me all that had transpired upon my arrival to the Wall, I was shocked to hear that a man with your reputation for honor had forsworn his own vows to the Night’s Watch, Lord Stark. She told me there was honor in what you had done. That you would stand by your duty to defend the North, and that you would stand by the King however you could.”

_However I could._ An interesting turn of phrase. Ned had not lied to Stannis and his red priestess. He wished to see Stannis Baratheon on the Iron Throne. He believed in the King’s rightful claim and would fight the Lannisters or any other men to defend it. But he would not sacrifice the people of the North needlessly for it. Not to the Others. And not to dragonfire if such a thing were truly back in the world.

He realized Selyse was still speaking.

“She told me that you asked to be released from your vows for many compelling reasons, but she believed you asked mostly for the sake of your wife.” She pressed her lips together. “I told her an honorable man would not take an action of such magnitude for the sake of simple lust.” She stared at him as if waiting for him to respond once more.

“No,” he said through gritted teeth. “Nothing about my decision was simple.” _And I will not discuss Catelyn with you nor allow you to dismiss what she is to me with a single word. You cannot possibly know anything about it._ “I do have a bit more work to accomplish here, Your Grace. If you have no other pressing concerns, mayhap we can put off other conversation until later.”

She frowned at him disapprovingly. It was hardly proper to dismiss a queen, but he did have work, and thanks to this woman, he now had a headache as well. He wanted her gone from his solar. 

“Very well, Lord Stark,” she said coolly, rising from her seat. “I will see you in the Great Hall.”

He rose and bowed courteously to her. “Your Grace.”

At her exit, he sank back into his chair and rubbed at his temples in a fruitless attempt to rid himself of both his headache and the ever increasing feeling that he needed to be somewhere else doing something other than attempting to play gracious host to Selyse Baratheon. 

As it happened, he had very little hosting to do over the next several days. He rarely saw the woman except at meals. She generally kept her daughter close beside her as if concerned that some danger might await the girl in Winterfell. She declined Ned’s offer to have the princess attend lessons in Maester Luwin’s turret with the other children, and he thought Shireen seemed disappointed at that. She seemed an intelligent girl and not without some spirit, but it appeared she obeyed her mother in all things. While she more closely mirrored Sansa in that than Arya, it was Arya, oddly enough, who befriended the Baratheon heir to the throne. Anytime Shireen Baratheon was seen out of her mother’s company, she was with Arya.

Letters in response to those he’d sent had begun arriving at Winterfell, and Ned’s time was in large part taken by reading, assessing, and responding to them. He didn’t have Catelyn beside him as much as he would have liked during the days as the burden of dealing with Selyse Baratheon fell largely to her while he was locked away in his solar with Maester Luwin.

The northernmost lords were livid with Jon over his promise of land to the wildlings. Harrion Karstark, Lord Rickard’s son, essentially vowed to shoot on sight any wilding who wandered onto his lands, and Smalljon Umber’s response from Last Hearth was scarcely any friendlier in manner. Ned wondered if Smalljon’s ire was truly directed toward Jon and his plans or more toward himself over the painful charade he’d caused to be played out between Cat and the young man’s father. 

As tense as the relationship between the Greatjon and himself had become, he prayed that his words might reach Lord Umber wherever he rode near the Wall. He could trust the man’s assessment of the mood there whatever else lay between them. And he knew that he’d speak freely and honestly.

He anxiously awaited some word from Maege Mormont as well. She was not on Bear Island, he knew, but he hoped someone there knew how to get his letter to her. Galbart Glover had responded. His letter was far more courteous than those from the young lords’ sons in the east, but while he praised Jon’s leadership of the Watch in many areas, he declared that his plan for settling large numbers of wildlings in the Gift was folly. He was fully convinced that peaceable coexistence between wildlings and Northmen was impossible.

A letter from King’s Landing arrived as well—from the damned evil woman who styled herself Queen Regent. She named him a traitor to the crown twice over now as well as a traitor to the Night’s Watch and declared his life forfeit. Robb was also named traitor and ordered to King’s Landing to submit to judgment. Catelyn was called adulteress and whore, and Brynden named a bastard. All true Northmen were called to rally to the cause of King Tommen Baratheon who promised pardon and magnanimity to them in exchange. But any who continued to follow the oathbreaking false Lord of Winterfell and his whore in supporting the pretender to the throne Stannis Baratheon would find nothing but defeat, ruin and death.

It was clear the same letter had been sent to Houses throughout the North. Likely to Houses throughout the Seven Kingdoms, and it made Ned’s blood boil to think of men all over Westeros reading such vile words about his wife. He didn’t truly mind so much being called a traitor or an oathbreaker himself, for where the Night’s Watch was concerned, he was both. But everything written of Catelyn and Brynden was false. He’d brought this upon them, and he could not defend them from words. He could not raise his sword against ink and parchment however much he wished to.

He almost didn’t show her that letter. He’d taken her all the letters from his bannermen, sharing them with her in the night hours in her chambers when at last their children and most others in the castle slumbered and no one demanded the attention of either of them. He needed her thoughts, and he needed her to hear his. He’d learned over the years that while they did not always agree, they complemented each other in such a way that he was always more confident in plans they reached together than those he devised entirely alone. He needed her, but he had no wish to hurt her, and he knew that letter would.

In the end, though, he’d promised her no more secrets, and so he brought it to her and watched her shake with rage and shame as she read. She knew as well as he how many other eyes would read the same words. She looked up at him when she’d finished it.

“How do you intend to respond?”

“I do not. Not to Cersei Lannister, anyway. She deserves no response. I have declared her an incestuous adulteress whose bastard son holds no authority over me or anyone else in the Seven Kingdoms. Her words are wind. I do not intend to speak or write to the woman again unless it is to pronounce judgment upon her when King’s Landing falls.”

“Adulteress,” she whispered hoarsely. “It would seem Westeros is full of adulteresses at present.” 

“Stop it, Cat. She is everything she has been accused of and worse. You are my wife. And everything in this letter regarding you is a lie. You know that.”

“I know it. But no one else does.”

“That isn’t true. Everyone in the North knows the truth, my love.”

“Everyone in the North has heard the truth. What they choose to believe . . .” She shook her head and attempted to smile at him. “I told you this would be the case. I knew it would from the moment I chose my course. I should hardly cry about it now.” He must have looked terribly grim for she took his face in her hands and kissed him. “It isn’t all bad, my love.”

She laughed when he looked at her in frank disbelief. “If this letter was sent to Riverrun, then however many men Edmure has already found to send to Robb’s aid, he will find at least as many more. Such words about me will enrage him almost as much as they do you.”

Ned doubted that very much, but he knew Edmure Tully loved his sister with a fierce devotion. He smiled back at her. “Family, Duty, Honor,” he said.

“Family, Duty, Honor,” she agreed. Then she tossed Cersei Lannister’s wretched parchment into her unlit fireplace. “I’ll burn it later, Ned. Come to bed.”

He woke very early the next morning before any hint of dawn crept in from the windows. Carefully, he eased himself away from his sleeping wife and tucked the furs around her. Knowing she’d be cold without him, he lit the fire in her hearth and watched that letter burn. The anger that had simmered beneath the surface for so long threatened to burn him as well. Everything in him longed to ride south immediately—to join Robb and march straight to King’s Landing and remove that lying, scheming, murdering Lannister bitch and her spawn from power—to kill any man who dared question the honor of his wife or the legitimacy of his son—to see the Iron Throne once more held by a man with honor, the brother of his king and friend. 

“I cannot stay here,” he whispered to the flames.

“You must stay here.”

He turned at the sound of her voice to see her sitting up in the bed with her hair falling forward over her pale shoulders. He shook his head. “No,” he said simply. “I mustn’t.”

“Ned,” she said slowly. “We’ve discussed all of this and . . .”

“No!” he said more loudly. “It isn’t a matter of discussion. It’s a matter of honor, Catelyn! It may be that I have very little honor left, but I am still a man. And for better or worse, I am the Lord of Winterfell!”

“Then act like it!” she hissed at him. “Stop sulking and shouting because you didn’t get to go play at war with the other boys.”

“Play at war?” he asked her incredulously. “Is that what you think war is? A game? Because I assure you, my lady, it is not!”

“And you think I don’t know that? You think I don’t know what’s riding on this war? You think I don’t take every breath in terror that the next raven to arrive will bring word that my son is dead?” Angry tears filled the blue eyes. “You are not the only one who’s angry and afraid, Ned!”

“You think me craven?” he demanded. “Is that it?”

“Gods, no!” She bit her lip and looked at him wordlessly as if fearful of what words threatened to spill from her. Then she stood and walked to him, her naked skin quickly becoming gooseflesh in the cool predawn air. “Listen to me, Eddard Stark. If one more man fighting beside Robb would make a difference in his victory, in his survival, I would saddle your damn horse myself. But you would be only one more man with a sword there, and he has swordsmen already. Here, you are lord, and you can direct men to the north and the south. You can make certain that our forces are where they need be in all the places we face danger. You know I speak the truth.”

She shivered, and he put his hands on her arms, moving her closer to the fire. She was so beautiful standing there—angry and fearful and determined all at once. But she didn’t understand. She wanted to keep him safe. He knew that. But it was his place to keep her safe. To keep all of them safe. And he was allowing others to do it for him. He bent and kissed her forehead. “I know you speak the truth as you see it,” he said softly. She started to reply, and he placed a hand gently over her lips just as she was wont to do to him when she felt he wasn’t letting her speak. “It is not yet morning, my lady. Go back to sleep. The fire will take the chill from the room.”

“And where are you going?” she asked him suspiciously.

“I promise I am not leaving the castle.”

“Ned . . .”

He sighed. “To the godswood, Cat. I need to go to the godswood.”

She looked at him a moment and then nodded, kissing him briefly before turning away to slip back beneath the furs on her bed. Her blue eyes never left him as he dressed.

“I will not stay gone long, my lady,” he said once he was prepared to go out.

Familiar with his habit of spending hours in the godswood when something troubled him, she huffed and shook her head slightly, but she didn’t say anything until he had opened the door and was halfway into the corridor.

“I love you, Ned.”

He turned back to look at her. She was sitting up again with the furs having fallen down to her waist, and a significant part of him wanted nothing more than to get back into bed with her and allow himself the sweet oblivion of her love once more. But he had to think about what he needed to do rather than forget the existence of a world beyond her arms again. And so, he remained where he was only long enough to reply, “And I love you,” before stepping out of her room and closing the door behind him.

Nowhere in Winterfell did Ned feel more closely bound to all the Starks who’d come before him than in the godswood. The bones of the ancient Kings of Winter might reside in the crypts, but he was certain that some part of their souls resided here. He bowed his head before the heart tree and wordlessly asked the old gods for their help. For their guidance. For something. _I wonder what the Kings of Winter would think of me now. Eddard Oathbreaker._ He’d heard the name. Not often. Not loudly. Not here in Winterfell anyway. But he wondered how often and loudly it was spoken elsewhere. He knew some likely called him craven as well, and he couldn’t honestly blame any man who now stood in harm’s way while he did not for saying it.

How long he stood there, thinking troubled thoughts and seeking both aid and absolution from his gods, he couldn’t be certain. He was unaware how much the sky had lightened until Maester Luwin’s soft voice caused him to look up. As his eyes focused on the small, unassuming man standing respectfully at some distance, he realized he could see him perfectly clearly. It was truly day.

“Forgive me, Lord Stark. I hesitated to intrude, but . . . you have been here some time and there’s been a letter.”

“From one of my sons?” he asked, and Luwin shook his head.

“From Lord Umber,” he said. “I . . . I asked Lady Catelyn if she knew where you were, and she ordered me not to disturb you. When you didn’t return for more than an hour after that, I went to her again.”

_More than an hour after that? How long have I stood here?_

“I am glad she sent you to me, Maester Luwin. Where is the letter?”

The small man swallowed. “She didn’t send me, my lord. Not then. She bid me bring the letter to her, and I did. She read it, and it seemed to upset her. She said she needed to bring it to you, but no sooner did she get her cloak than Queen Selyse arrived demanding to speak with her about something. Lady Stark looked at me and mouthed the word ‘godswood.’ and so here I am.”

“She is still in her chambers?” Ned asked, already walking past the maester in the direction of the gate.

“Unless the Queen took her somewhere else.”

“The Queen can bloody well get out of my way,” Ned muttered, walking toward the Great Keep as quickly as he could without running. He didn’t want anyone asking him questions. He needed to get to Catelyn. _What the devil has Umber written that upset her?_ She cared more about the man’s wellbeing and his opinions than Ned would like, but he couldn’t truly fault her for it. As he took the steps in the Great Keep that led toward her chambers two at a time, he nearly crashed in to Selyse Baratheon who was coming down them.

“Lord Stark!” she said somewhat indignantly.

“Forgive me, Your Grace,” he said, forcing himself to stop walking and to speak courteously. “I am looking for my wife.”

“I just left her in her chambers, but she said she had to go to the nursery and feed your son.” She frowned slightly, and Ned nearly smiled in spite of her worry. Apparently, the Queen disapproved of Catelyn’s absolute refusal to employ a wetnurse. Brynden had enjoyed quite a few extra feedings over the past few days whenever Catelyn was desperate to escape the woman because Selyse never chose to accompany her when she went to feed the babe.

Taking leave of the Queen, Ned hurried to the top of the stairs and turned toward the nursery only to hear his name called from the direction of his wife’s room. 

“Ned!” she hissed, and he looked to see her leaning out into the corridor. 

Hurriedly, he went to join her. “Selyse Baratheon told me that you were . . .”

She waved her arm and made a face as if Selyse Baratheon’s words couldn’t possibly matter less as she pulled him into her room, shutting the door behind him. “I had tell her something to get rid of her,” she said. “Ned, there’s been another letter.” 

Her voice sounded almost tremulous, and he realized she looked truly pale rather than simply her usual fair color.

“Cat, what is amiss? What troubles you, my lady?”

She simply shook her head, biting her lip as she handed him the letter. Puzzled, he took it from her, but led her to sit down on the bed, seating himself close beside her before he began to read.

_Lord Stark,_

_I regret to inform you of evil tidings. At least a score of Northmen are dead, and now a goodly number of the wildlings your son sent to Sable Hall are dead as well. We’ve been using Rimegate as our own base—Cregan Karstark and I. I honestly cannot say what happened on the first night. Cregan had ridden out along the Wall with a patrol of some fifty men--mostly Kartsark men, but some of mine, and even a few of the wildlings. They were attacked at night, and only thirty made it back here. Cregan declared they were ambushed by wildlings and murdered in cold blood, but one wilding fellow who seemed a decent sort to me called him a liar, and said it was dead men that killed our riders, and it made no difference what form of men they’d been before. The other men seemed confused. All agreed the attackers looked like wildlings, but many said there was something wrong with them, and at least two men were very certain they all had blue eyes. It was dark, of course, and other men said no one could see their eyes for certain._

_Cregan hollered that he didn’t give a damn about their eye color. They were plainly wildlings and this is what came of letting them south of the Wall. He stalked off to sulk or so I thought. What he truly did was gather another host of his men together and ride to Sable Hall. He got there just before dawn and surprised the wildlings while most were still abed. I don’t know how many were killed, but it was more than enough. The sun came up, and Cregan rode back dragging his own dead with him. The ground’s frozen solid here, not good for burial, so he laid the seven dead men out and assigned a detail to ride for the Karhold with them the next morning._

_But that night, they rose. I swear to the gods, Ned, I did believe your tale, but I think I didn’t truly understand it until I saw those dead men coming forward to kill us without a thought, looking almost through us with those soulless blue eyes.. I grabbed a torch and swung it to set one alight, and then other men remembered what they’d been told and did the same. There were only seven and they burned easy enough._

_Come the next morning, the wildlings arrived, living ones, that is—demanding justice for them that was murdered by Cregan and his men, saying they had nothing to do with the attack on Cregan’s patrol, and that even if the dead men who attacked had been wildlings once, they hadn’t come from Sable Hall and that dead men of any kind are killers whatever they were in life._

_Damnation, Ned! I do believe what they told me. I believe a lot after what I saw in the night, but if I turn over Cregan Karstark to the justice of angry wildlings, we’ll have triple the number of dead men walking around up here because Harrion Karstark may not like his cousin much, but he’ll not let him be killed over a bunch of savages no one wants here in the first place._

_We’re a knife’s edge away from war here, my lord. With wildlings, not Others. And on this side of the Wall._

_I’ve told Halleck, the fellow in charge at Sable Hall, that I’m writing to you and the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, and that I’d not let the Karstarks leave Rimegate while we await your word, but I can’t keep him satisfied long, and some of the Karstark men managed to ride away so no doubt Harrion will soon be hearing his wretched cousin is essentially my prisoner. I haven’t got enough men to fight a full scale battle, Ned. And I don’t know how I’m going to stop one from happening._

_Jon Umber_

“Damn,” Ned muttered under his breath. Then he looked up at his wife and saw tears running down her face. She looked both grief stricken and terrified. Swallowing the surge of jealousy this display of emotion caused him, he sought to comfort her. “Jon’s a tough man in a fight, Cat. He’ll do fine.”

She nodded, but the tears kept falling. “I know that,” she said.

He knew it made him a petty man, but it was hard to watch this evidence of the depth of her caring for the man she’d had to call husband for a time, the man he knew to be in love with her. And he couldn’t think of that. He had to think of what to do now. He rose from the bed and walked a few paces away, running a hand through his hair, mentally calculating the time it would take to ride from Winterfell to Rimegate. He knew its location well enough. He began to consider how many men he could afford to take from Winterfell because if he did go, he would not leave the castle without ample protection. _Not enough,_ he thought grimly. _Not enough to make a difference._ He could possibly pull more men from Cerwyn or Torrhen’s Square and other places relatively close by, but all of those places had already sent men to the south. How many more could they spare? And gods! How could he make war on his own bannermen? The Karstarks were not his enemy. But in truth, the wildlings were not his enemy at the moment, either. They had to see past this!

He didn’t realize he was pacing until Catelyn said his name and he looked up to find himself beside the window. He turned back to look at her.

“I can hear you thinking,” she said. “I can practically see the men you are counting. Or is it the leagues from here to there?”

She sounded tired rather than accusatory, and Ned remembered how he’d left her earlier. “Both,” he confessed. “Cat, I need you to understand that . . .”

“Go,” she said.

That confused him. “Go,” he repeated blankly.

“Yes,” she said, sounding almost angry. “Go on! You can’t stay here while our men our dying there!”

_Rimegate. She is telling me to go to Rimegate._ The realization came over him rather slowly and pleased him not at all regardless of the fact that was precisely what he planned to do. Since Robb had ridden away, the woman had done nothing but spout at him all the reasons he should remain in Winterfell. But now that Jon Umber was in danger, she all but ordered him from the castle! “You want me to go and help him . . . Umber. Don’t you?” he said, clenching his jaw.

“That’s what you’re going to do, isn’t it?” she asked. Her eyes, still glistening with tears, widened slightly.

“Well . . . yes. I was planning . . . I mean I think I should go, but it does put me even further from Robb, and I can’t leave the castle undermanned and . . .” He stopped speaking as she stared at him in obvious distress. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I hate watching you tear yourself apart,” she said softly. “You have to go.”

“Gods, Catelyn, does Umber truly mean that much to you? You haven’t ordered me to our son’s side!”

Instantly, the blue eyes flashed with fury, and she was off the bed and standing before him. “How dare you, Eddard Stark? Do you think for one moment I don’t want you with Robb if you aren’t here with me? Are you that big a fool? But, you can make a larger difference in this trouble at the Wall. If a lot of stubborn, proud Northmen are going to listen to anyone, it’s you. And Jon needs your help to . . .”

“Jon,” he said, tightening his jaw. “Jon needs my help.”

“Jon Snow, you bloody fool! He’s the reason the wildlings are south of the Wall. If this does lead to all out warfare in the Gift, he’ll lose any credibility he has with your bannermen! If he can prove to the Northmen that he can make them keep their word and do no harm here, and you can prove to the wildlings that your Northmen will obey you and not attack them either, mayhap everyone can get back to the business of fighting these wights and your other monsters should they show up as well.”

She was looking at him with an odd mixture of exasperation and anger. “Jon Snow,” he said softly. “You are concerned for Jon Snow.”

She bit her lip. “I am concerned for the North,” she said shortly. “I am concerned for the Night’s Watch.” She raised a hand to caress his cheek. “Mostly, I am concerned for you.”

He swallowed. “And Jon Umber.”

She sighed. “Of course, I am concerned for Jon. He is my friend. Yours, too, Ned. He deserves my concern at least.”

“And he has it, I know,” Ned said softly, raising his own hand to touch her still damp cheek. “Forgive me for begrudging him your tears, my lady.”

“My tears?” she asked, dark auburn brows knitting in confusion. Then she actually laughed. “You actually thought I was crying for Jon Umber?” She shook her head and took his face between her hands to hold his eyes on hers. “You foolish, foolish man. The moment I read those words, I knew what you would do. I knew what you must do. I’ve been fighting a losing battle, Ned, trying to keep you here. My reasons were good ones, I told myself. You needed to be here. Yet, however many good reasons I could name, my true reason was always a selfish one. I’ve had you gone from me too long. You’ve risked your life too often. I would keep you here and keep you safe simply because I love you and I need you, and any other reason for your staying or going be damned!”

“Cat,” he said, crushing her to him. “I don’t want to leave you. I swear I don’t want to go.”

“Yes, you do,” she said, pulling back just a bit. “Oh, you don’t want to leave me, but you do want to go. You have for a long time. To Robb in the south or Jon Snow in the North. Somewhere you could do something.” She sighed. “It isn’t in you to put men in harm’s way while you keep yourself from it, my love. It’s one of the things about you that terrifies me, you know. You aren’t a reckless man, thank the gods. But you are not a craven, and you are more careful of others’ lives than your own. While I would be more careful of yours than anyone else’s save our children’s. That’s why I would keep you here if I could, but I cannot keep you here and have you be the man you are. The man I love.”

His throat felt very tight, and he found himself unable to speak. He’d thought she didn’t understand—that she couldn’t possibly understand. And yet it seemed that she understood him better than he understood himself. He didn’t have the words to explain that to her so he kissed her—deeply and insistently, as if he could somehow make her understand what he felt through the meeting of their lips and tongues.

“I want you,” he breathed when they finally broke apart.

“You have me,” she replied. “Always.”

Then they were moving together back toward her bed, fumbling with laces and fastenings. They’d undressed each other countless times by now, but still his heart sped up with each new expanse of fair skin he exposed, and he reveled in the small sounds of pleasure she made whenever her hands came into contact with his own bare flesh as first his shirt and then his breeches were removed. He hadn’t realized how hard he already was until he felt her hand grasp his cock, her long fingers moving over his length with practiced expertise. She knew precisely how to touch him. But he’d had just as many years of practice in pleasing her, and he made good use of his own fingers as he laid her back upon the bed. Her hips bucked wildly beneath his hands. She could never remain still when he touched her like this. He pressed his lips hard against hers, and she reached with her free hand to grip the back of his head and hold him to her, letting him know that he couldn’t possibly kiss her too deeply. The movements of her other hand on his cock threatened to undo him immediately, and he knew this was not a time for drawn out teasing or slow pleasures. He needed her, and she needed him. He reached to move her hand away and then pushed himself within her as far as he could go all at once. She gasped and cried out sharply, but kept her one hand in his hair and moved the newly freed hand to grip his arse, urging him on. He thrust into her without restraint, spilling himself within her in less than a dozen strokes, feeling her contract around him as she lost herself as well. 

When he could breathe again, he buried his face in her neck and whispered, “I don’t know how to leave you, Cat.”

She pressed a kiss to hair. “I don’t know how to let you leave. And yet you will go, and I will let you because it’s what we both must do.”

He rolled onto his back and pulled her against him. “Our duty, you mean?”

“No,” she said, surprising him. “It’s simply who we are. You are a lord and a man who must go and lead his people safely through harm’s way rather than simply direct them from the rear of the battle. And I am the woman who loves you too much to have you be anything else—even when it makes me cry.”

“No,” he said. “You are the woman who is loved more than I have words to say. The woman who gives me the strength to leave her when I don’t think I could do it on my own. And I would rather have my heart torn out than to make you cry.”

She didn’t answer him, and after a moment he felt moisture on his chest and realized she was crying again. “Cat? What’s wrong, my love?”

“Nothing’s wrong, Ned,” she said with a small, musical laugh. “Sometimes, my love, it’s a good thing when you make me cry.”

He smiled to himself and held her more tightly. By the light in the room, he knew he’d missed breakfast and thought they were likely in danger of missing the midday meal as well, but he didn’t care. He could find something to eat whenever they rose from this bed. Then he would write to both Jons and tell them he was coming north. The peace he felt at having the decision made was tempered by the worry about what more would take place in the Gift before his arrival and about what could be occurring even now with Robb to the south. He didn’t want to leave the children he’d only so recently gotten back. Gods knew he didn’t want to leave Cat. It would take several days to make the preparations. That wouldn’t make the parting any easier, he knew, and a small part of him wished he could just leave immediately in order to get to Rimegate sooner. But the larger part of him was glad of more time—even if it was just a few days—in which he could simply be with his family. He would see his children’s smiles and listen to them talk of whatever they wished, hold Brynden as he slept with his sweet head upon his shoulder, and lie down at night with his wife and love her enough to keep both of them warm however long they must be parted again.


	21. Catelyn

Ned had been gone six nights when the letter came from King’s Landing. This missive was not from Cersei Lannister, however. A Highgarden rose was pressed into the golden yellow sealing wax. Catelyn stared at for a moment with a deep sense of resignation. 

“Is my daughter aware this letter has arrived?” she asked Maester Luwin.

The small man shook his head. “No, my lady. I brought it directly here as the letter is addressed specifically to you.”

So it was. There was no way Willas Tyrell could have known Ned was not in Winterfell, and Catelyn couldn’t help but wonder if the letter’s address was meant specifically to insult her husband. ‘Lady Catelyn Umber’ was written on the outside of the parchment in a neat, elegant script. She felt certain the Tyrell heir had written it himself. Sighing, she picked it up from Ned’s desk where the maester had laid it, and held it in her hand a moment.

“Where is Queen Selyse?” she asked abruptly.

“Her Grace has retired to her chambers with her daughter,” Luwin replied. Discerning the reason for her question, he added, “I believe she intends to remain there for some time, my lady. It is unlikely she will come here any time soon.”

Maester Luwin knew well enough that Selyse Baratheon’s penchant for showing up uninvited in Ned’s solar or Catelyn’s own bedchamber or anywhere in the castle Catelyn happened to be threatened to exceed even Lady Stark’s capacity for hospitality. The woman had a thousand small complaints and an alarming tendency to see insult in the most innocent of actions. The queen appeared to have no wish to discuss the war in the south, repeating only that R’hllor’s will would be done. No letter had as of yet been received from King Stannis, and Catelyn wondered if that was the cause of the woman’s ill temper, but she didn’t ask after ravens often. Generally, she complained about the food or some perceived lack of respect on the part of a chambermaid. On occasion, she even made rather discourteous remarks about Catelyn’s children, particularly Arya and Rickon, which were very difficult to ignore. No, Catelyn did not want Selyse Baratheon here while she read this letter.

She wondered about the maester’s certainty that the queen and princess would remain in their rooms, however. “Were the Walders mocking the princess again?” she asked tiredly. Only two days ago, she and Queen Selyse had come upon the two Frey wards teasing Shireen mercilessly about her greyscale scars. She’d had Ser Rodrik thrash both of them soundly and sent them to their rooms without their evening meal, but the queen, in her fury, had not felt the punishment severe enough. In truth, Catelyn couldn’t blame the woman for being protective of her child, but she couldn’t very well behead the boys for cruel words.

“No, my lady.” The maester’s mouth curled upward slightly. “Our young lords of Frey have been rather subdued since Ser Rodrik administered his justice. They’ve only just begun sitting comfortably once more.” Even more amusement crept into his voice as he continued. “I fear Queen Selyse did not appreciate discovering Lady Arya instructing the princess in the best way to throw snowballs at passersby. Fortunately, she wasn’t hit by one, but I believe she intended to keep the princess engaged in more suitable womanly pursuits for the remainder of the day—whatever those might be.”

Catelyn allowed herself her own quick smile as Arya was not present to see it. She had spoken to her younger daughter numerous times already about not antagonizing the queen by encouraging Princess Shireen’s participation in her own outrageous behavior, and undoubtedly another lecture would now be forthcoming. Privately, however, she rather enjoyed the idea of Selyse Baratheon being surprised by a snowball flying in her direction only to discover her own daughter had been throwing it. “I suppose Shireen was doing the throwing when her mother passed by, if she wasn’t hit,” Catelyn said, unable to resist.

“Of course, my lady,” Maester Luwin said, almost managing not to laugh. “Lady Arya wouldn’t have missed her. She has better aim than most boys.”

Catelyn did laugh briefly at that. She knew she shouldn’t, and she would make herself suitably stern when facing Arya later, but laughter had been rather hard to come by since first Robb’s and then Ned’s departures. She could allow herself this small moment of amusement before dealing with whatever dark words awaited her from Willas Tyrell. 

The moment could not last, however, and she bit her lip and opened the letter to read.

_Lady Umber,_

_Your former husband’s cowardly and traitorous acts come as a terrible shock and disappointment to me as our own interactions during my visit to Winterfell were always courteous and conducted with honor and propriety. In light of his new treason, I regret to inform you that I cannot allow my betrothal to your daughter Sansa to stand. Would that Eddard Oathbreaker only knew what his crimes could cost his family and what dread he has brought upon his House._

_I bear the Lady Sansa no ill will and will always hold her in high regard. You, too, my lady, earned my respect during our conversations, and I cannot help but worry for you. I have no doubt that whatever part you may be compelled to play now, you had no knowledge of your former husband’s nefarious plans, regardless of what you might have suspected. Knowledge and suspicion are not the same, and suspicion is far more difficult to act upon. In any case, I fear the king has no recourse but to hold you traitor as well since you remain at Winterfell with Eddard Oathbreaker, and while I have expressed to the Queen Regent my hope that you and your children will be treated with mercy, I made it clear I am no Stark puppet. Justice must be served, and dread will come to Northern traitors._

_As for Lord Robb, I am most disappointed to hear he follows his father into treason. Only dread awaits him, and for your sake, I am sorry._

_Please give your daughter my heartfelt regrets. As for your former husband, I do not correspond with traitors and he should know why I send my letter to you._

_Willas Tyrell_

Catelyn stared at the parchment and felt angry tears pricking at the backs of her eyes. _Eddard Oathbreaker!_ The foul man had sung a different tune when he’d been at Winterfell—never stepping over the line of actual support for a traitor, but referring to Ned as the former Lord of Winterfell and acknowledging him as an honorable man throughout the years. 

“May I see the letter, Lady Stark?” Maester Luwin’s quiet voice interrupted her angry thoughts.

Wordlessly, she handed it to him and rose from Ned’s chair to walk closer to the fire. She was suddenly cold although she wasn’t certain why. Tyrell’s dissolution of the betrothal was hardly unexpected. His sister was wed to little Tommen Baratheon, after all. Yet something about the tone of his letter bothered her. _Not a Stark puppet!_ She recalled angrily how the man had bristled with righteous indignation at being called a Lannister puppet when he’d spoken with her in the godswood and now he was . . . using words almost identical to those he’d used then. Tyrell had not struck her as a stupid man, and she suddenly found herself wondering if it had been intentional. He had written something else, too—something about the difference between knowledge and suspicion. That seemed an odd thing to include in his letter, but it echoed the words she had spoken to him when she’d encouraged him to leave Winterfell.

“Maester Luwin,” she said suddenly. “What do you think of Lord Willas’s letter?”

“The broken betrothal is not a surprise, Lady Stark. Nor is his support for Tommen Baratheon and his mother. You said he would not betray his family.”

“Yes, yes. But you had occasion to speak with him when he was here at Winterfell. What do you think of the language? Does anything strike you as . . .”

She was unable to finish the question as Mina burst into the solar without knocking. “M’lady! Maester Luwin!”

The chambermaid was out of breath, obviously having run to the solar, and Catelyn felt panic rising within her. “What is it, Mina? Are the children . . .”

“Not the children, m’lady! It’s Lady Roslin. The babe is coming!”

“Where is she?” Catelyn breathed. The babe was early—not terribly early, Rickon had been earlier and had been fine--but this was a surprise. Roslin would likely be frightened.

“They’re taking her to her room, Lady Catelyn. She was with Lady Sansa and some others and her bag of waters broke. She didn’t even have any pains first, m’lady! She kind of hollered and then Lady Sansa saw all the water and . . .”

Catelyn didn’t wait to hear what else Mina had to say. She hurried out of the solar to the room Roslin shared with Robb—Robb who was leagues away as his child prepared to come into the world. She vaguely heard Maester Luwin giving some sort of instructions to Mina and then his footsteps came after hers.

She entered her gooddaughter’s chambers to find the girl struggling against Sansa and a maidservant who were attempting to settle her back onto pillows piled upon the head of her bed.

“I can’t, I can’t, I can’t!” she kept repeating almost hysterically.

“Roslin,” Catelyn said almost sharply, and at the sound of her voice, Roslin turned a tear-stained and terrified face toward her.

“It hurts, my lady,” she wailed. “It hurts so much and I’m scared and I don’t think I can do this!”

Catelyn had a brief irritated impulse to snap, ‘Of course it hurts, but you’ve no choice about it,’ but she’d rapidly suppressed it. She’d been terrified herself when the pains first came during Robb’s birth and convinced she would die as they went on. Roslin was young, and knowing that childbirth brought pain was not the same thing as feeling it for yourself.

Calmly she walked forward and took the hand the maid had been holding. “You can do it, Roslin,” she said firmly but kindly. “You are Lady Roslin Stark of Winterfell, and you are strong enough to bear this.”

The girl pressed her lips together tightly, but gave a tiny nod and quit struggling to rise from the bed. 

“Maester Luwin,” Catelyn said quickly, and he stepped forward to lay a hand over Roslin’s belly.

“Forgive me, Lady Roslin,” he said kindly, “But I must examine you.”

She nodded again, her eyes still wide with fear, but without the near hysteria that Catelyn had seen in her expression upon her entrance.

The childbed was hardly a place for modesty. Roslin, having been examined by Maester Luwin before and currently in no state to be concerned about anything other than her own fear and pain, seemed scarcely to notice what the man was doing. But when the maester spread her legs and placed his own fingers inside her, Catelyn looked up to see Sansa’s eyes gone wide with shock. 

“Sansa . . .” she started to say, but Sansa looked up, shook her auburn head, and assumed a rather stubborn expression oddly reminiscent of Arya. 

“I was with you for Brynden’s birth, Mother. I intend to stay with my goodsister,” she said in an authoritative tone that would have made Ned proud.

“Of course, sweetling,” Catelyn said. Still, she intended to keep a close eye on her daughter. During Brynden’s birth, the girl had been almost entirely focused on her—wiping her face, talking to her, sitting well up at the head of the bed—and Catelyn didn’t think she’d observed too closely the details of what the maester had been doing. Although Catelyn herself didn’t recall the man doing much except standing at the foot of the bed as still and silent as a damn statue. As she silently asked the gods’ forgiveness for her uncharitable thoughts about House Umber’s maester, Roslin suddenely cried out and tightened the grip on her hand forcefully as another pain wracked her.

The grimace that appeared on Sansa’s face across the bed made it clear that Roslin squeezed her hand just as tightly, but Catelyn was pleased by her daughter’s reaction to it as she simply leaned in and spoke in a gentle, calming voice.

“We’ve got you, Ros. You’re all right. You’re going to have the most beautiful baby!”

Roslin didn’t respond to Sansa, instead emitting a wordless shriek of pain. Sansa’s eyes looked to Catelyn in distress.

“This is normal,” Catelyn said softly. “All women cry out, Sansa.”

She wondered if Sansa could even hear her words over Roslin’s scream, but Sansa appeared to understand. She frowned slightly. “You didn’t . . .”

“Brynden was my sixth, sweetling, not my first, and I recall making a good bit of noise.”

They were silent then, simply holding on to Roslin until her pain eased.

“I will not die, my lady? You are certain?” the girl gasped when at last she had breath again.

“You will not die,” Catelyn said with certainty she could not actually claim. While she had every reason to believe Roslin and the babe would be well, there was never certainty in these matters. Her gooddaughter did not need to hear such things at present, however. “I know you feel as though you surely must, child. But you will not, and when you hold your babe in your arms, the pain will all be gone.” A maidservant stood at the head of the bed with a damp cloth, and Catelyn took it from her to wipe Roslin’s forehead.

Maester Luwin stood up straight. “Your womb is opening, Lady Roslin,” he said. “It is difficult to say how long it may take as first babes sometimes are slower to come into the world, but this babe is coming well.”

“I want Robb,” Roslin said, sounding almost like a petulant child. “I want him to see his child!”

“He will, Roslin,” Catelyn said soothingly. “Very soon. He will be so proud of you and so pleased with this babe.”

Any response Roslin might have made was cut off by a loud wail as another pain took her, this one coming more quickly than the last had, and Catelyn steeled herself against the pain of the girl’s iron grip on her hand.

“If I do die, name the babe Eddard if it’s a boy,” she panted when the pain finally eased again. “Robb wants . . .”

“That will be his name, Roslin. And you shall be here to give it to him,” Catelyn reassured her.

“For a girl, I want . . .” Her face suddenly contorted and she began screaming again. 

After that, Roslin made very few sensible statements. She cried out for Robb a few times and even for her own mother, now dead many years. The amount of wailing and screaming seemed to distress Sansa, and Catelyn herself found it a bit excessive, but then she supposed all women were different in childbirth, and she honestly hadn’t attended many births other than her own children’s. 

When Maester Luwin exhorted Roslin to push, she did so with great effort, and both Catelyn and Sansa encouraged her. Even so, it seemed to take an eternity before a thoroughly exhausted Roslin finally mustered the strength for the final push which brought her babe into the world.

When the babe cried, Catelyn let out the breath she hadn’t realized she was holding and silently thanked the gods the child had been safely delivered.

“A healthy girl, my lady!” Maester Luwin proclaimed. And Catelyn felt a momentary disappointment in the fact that her son, facing death on the battlefield had been deprived of this chance for a male heir.

Then the maester held the babe up facing Roslin, and she got her first good look at her grandchild’s face—a perfectly round, pink face topped by a surprising amount of dark brown hair like her mother’s with Robb’s blue eyes blinking at them as if thoroughly surprised by the existence of light. She was beautiful. She was perfect. _My son is a father. I am a grandmother._ Her heart felt a tenderness that threatened to overwhelm her—an altogether new sort of tenderness which wasn’t like that she’d felt at the birth of her own children, but was just as powerful in its own way. She found herself wishing desperately that Ned were here to share it with her.

Maester Luwin then came carefully around the bed to lay the tiny girl in Roslin’s arms, and the expression of exultant joy and wonder on the young woman’s face as she regarded her new daughter both warmed Catelyn’s heart and made that heart ache for her son. Robb should be here to see and hold this child of his body. Ned hadn’t been present for his birth, and it broke Catelyn’s heart that Robb had been forced to follow in his father’s footsteps in this particular thing.

“Hello, Serena,” Roslin whispered softly to the babe in her arms.

Catelyn startled at the name. “Serena?” she asked. “Robb told me you were to select a girl’s name. I’d thought you might choose Bethany for your mother.”

Roslin looked up at her. “I really don’t remember her, you know, although my brother Perwyn told me I favor her. She died before my second name day, you see. I think only he and Benfrey remembered her much because Willamen was only four and Olyvar barely three when she died. And Benfrey never spoke of her.” She looked down at her daughter. “I called my father’s next wife ‘Mother’ for the longest time. She was my sister Arwyn’s mother, you see, and Arwyn and I were closer than I was to anyone at home except for Olyvar. Annara, Arwyn’s mother that is, didn’t seem to mind. She took care of me more than anyone else did when I was little.” Roslin’s cheeks colored a bit. “It was her I was calling out for. But she’s been dead since before I was ten. She died birthing my youngest sister, Shirei.”

Catelyn was stunned at Roslin’s words. This was the most the girl had ever spoken of her childhood at the Twins, and it saddened her to hear the melancholy which infected her voice as she spoke of it even now at the happiest of occasions.

“Would you like to call her Annara then?” she asked gently. “If you considered her your mother, Robb wouldn’t mind you honoring her as such.”

Roslin shook her head, not looking up from daughter. “I only said Annara didn’t mind me so much,” she said softly. “She liked me as well as her own children, I guess, and she was never mean to me, but she liked men more than children.” 

Catelyn could recall whispers about Annara Farring, Lord Walder’s seventh wife, and one of his grandsons . . . no, great grandson . . . the one they called Black Walder, but she simply remained silent.

“No,” Roslin said in almost a whisper. “My child will not live as we did at the Twins. And she will carry nothing of that place in her name.” She did look up at Catelyn then. “Do you not like the name Serena, my lady?” she asked, looking at least as young as Arya and desperate for approval.

“It is beautiful,” Catelyn replied. “And I understand your choice more than you know.” She smiled at her gooddaughter. “When you were perusing the lineage of House Stark, did you happen to note the name of Serena Stark’s sister?”

Roslin smiled. “I did, my lady.”

Sansa took in an audible breath as she suddenly realized where she’d seen the name Serena before, and Catelyn smiled more widely at that.

“You are not the first Lady Stark to search those old names in hopes of finding one that will both please your lord husband and be beautiful enough for your perfect daughter. I’ve done it twice now.”

She held Roslin’s eyes a moment and felt an understanding pass between the two of them. She also felt the last of her suspicion of the girl fade away. She couldn’t imagine the childhood Roslin had lived. She had known tragedy as a child in the loss of her mother, and the gods knew that her own children had suffered more than their fair share of misery since Robert Baratheon had come north those years ago. Yet all of them had known they were loved by their parents through it all. Roslin Frey . . . no, Roslin Stark . . . was her son’s wife and the mother of her granddaughter. She deserved to be treated as a daughter.

“I only pray he will not be disappointed she is not a son,” Roslin said then.

Catelyn smiled at her again. “Robb is his father’s son, Roslin. You have seen Ned with his daughters. Robb will love his as much, I assure you. And he will adore her name.”

Suddenly, Roslin looked distressed. “If he ever hears it. What if he doesn’t come home, Lady Catelyn? What if he never . . .” Her words were choked off by a sudden sob and her eyes filled with tears.

“Don’t ever say that,” Catelyn said quickly. “We both know what dangers Robb faces, but we shall pray for him every day, child. And we will believe in him. And he will come home to us. Do you understand me?”

Roslin nodded. “Would you like to hold her?” she asked after a moment.

“Very much,” Catelyn replied, reaching down to take her granddaughter into her arms.

She felt remarkably light and small as Catelyn was used to carrying Brynden who had grown so much bigger already. It seemed almost impossible that he’d so recently been this tiny and new. Then again, she didn’t think he’d ever been quite so tiny even when he was new. She traced the baby’s beautiful face with her finger. “She looks like you,” she told Roslin.

“She has Robb’s eyes,” Roslin responded. 

“Yes,” Catelyn agreed.

“Let me see her,” Sansa exclaimed, coming around the bed to stand beside Catelyn. She’d been very quiet as Roslin and Catelyn had discussed the babe’s name, but now she allowed her excitement to bubble up once more. “I’m your Auntie Sansa,” she said to the babe, leaning down until her face almost touched the tiny girl’s. “She’s so beautiful,” she murmured then.

“She is, isn’t she?” Roslin said, with pride.

Catelyn looked up from her granddaughter for the first time since she’d taken her into her arms, and smiled to see the proud expression on Roslin’s face. “Very,” she said.

“The three of you all have the same eyes!” Roslin exclaimed, smiling. “You all have Robb’s eyes!” 

Then Serena herself joined the conversation with a rather loud piercing wail.

“Oh! Is she all right? Is there something wrong? Maester Luwin!” Roslin cried out in some alarm.

Catelyn had all but forgotten the maester was still in the room as he went about seeing to Roslin and directing the maids to take care of the aftermath of the birth with such quiet, unassuming competence.

“She is quite well, Lady Roslin,” the maester replied. “But I think she has discovered she is hungry.”

As Serena rooted against Catelyn’s breast, she laughed. “She certainly is. I think she’s rather intent on pilfering her Uncle Brynden’s milk.” She could feel her own breasts tingle in response to the babe’s nuzzling and cries. “I believe you should go back to your mother, little one.”

“Oh! I’m not certain I know how to . . . I mean, what do I do? Maester Luwin?”

This time the maester did not hide his smile as well as he had over her initial alarm at the babe’s cries. “I believe that Lady Catelyn is likely more able to assist you in that endeavor than I, Lady Roslin.”

Catelyn laughed again for the sheer joy of having her granddaughter safely delivered into the world. “I certainly have a bit of experience with it,” she said matter of factly, and she bent to give Serena back into the arms of her mother. 

It didn’t take very long to help Roslin discover the most comfortable position to hold the babe and get her to latch on to the nipple. She and Sansa remained with her while she fed the babe, and then Catelyn sent Sansa to get the other children who would all be anxious to see their new niece. Maester Luwin and the maids had left before that, and Catelyn smiled at her gooddaughter in the few moments they had alone.

“You did very well today. I am proud of you.”

“Thank you, my lady.”

“You needn’t call me ‘my lady,’ Roslin. We are family, after all.”

“I . . . I wouldn’t know what else to call you.”

“You can call me by my name, if you wish. My family has always called me Cat, although you’ll only hear Ned use that here. I’m simply ‘Mother’ to every other Stark in Winterfell.”

“Mother,” Roslin said softly. “I shall like being called Mother. Although I suppose that’s still a long way off.”

“Not as long as you think, sweetling. They grow faster than we’d like, but you will like being called Mother. There are few things in this world I like as well, actually.”

Roslin smiled. “No one’s ever called me that before,” she said wonderingly.

“Mother?” Catelyn asked, somewhat confused. Of course, no one had called her Mother as she’d only just become one.

“No. Sweetling. I’d never even heard it until I came here. It’s what you call your children.”

“Well . . . it’s what a lot of people call their children.” Once again, Catelyn found herself saddened at the thought of a childhood like Roslin’s—one in which a simple, common endearment was never uttered. “And Robb did make you my daughter, Roslin.”

Roslin looked as if she wanted very much to say something else, but the door burst open at that point to reveal Arya and Rickon nearly knocking each other over in their rush to get into the room with Bran not very far behind in his chair.

“Can Meera and Jojen come in?” he asked. “They pushed me here so I could get here faster!”

Roslin nodded her assent, and Catelyn backed away from the bed to make room for five new admirers for Serena who now lay sleeping in her mother’s arms. As she moved toward the door of the chamber, she nearly ran into Sansa who was returning as well. 

“Did you really pick out my name from the Stark lineage to please Father?” she whispered as the two of them stood together slightly back from the others who were cooing enthusiastically over the babe.

“I most certainly did. But I also picked it to please myself. It was beautiful—like you. And I was proud to be the mother of a daughter of House Stark.” There had been more to it than that, of course—her own insecurity then about Ned’s feelings for her, her own reluctance to admit her feelings for him, and her overwhelming desire to have her children accepted as Starks rather than southron interlopers. Sansa didn’t need to hear any of that, though. In any event, her choice of her daughter’s name had been perfect. After holding Catelyn all through the labor and lending her his strength when she’d doubted her own, Ned had looked at their daughter as if she were the only babe ever born—an incomparable gift from the gods. And when Catelyn had told him her name, his face had seemed to glow from within, and she had known for certain that she loved him.

“I think it will be wonderful to be married and have babes of my own,” Sansa said rather dreamily, looking at everyone gathered around Roslin and Serena. She looked up at Catelyn then. “But I have to admit that hearing poor Roslin scream like that made me sort of dread it. She seemed to hurt a lot more than you did.”

Catelyn laughed. “Oh, it hurts, sweetling. It definitely hurts. But the pain of it ends, and children are more than worth it. I would gladly suffer it all again in order to have the six of you.”

Sansa smiled. “Shall we tell them to make room for us?”

“You go ahead, sweetling. I have to feed your youngest brother. He’s still a babe, too, you know.”

Sansa kissed her on the cheek. “Give that to Brynden then, so he’ll know I haven’t forgotten him. But Serena’s a girl! We haven’t had a girl baby since Arya, and I don’t even remember her that small! I don’t think I’ll ever want to leave Serena alone!”

Catelyn laughed at her daughter’s enthusiasm, and with an admonition to Sansa to get everyone out of Roslin’s room shortly lest they wear her out, she stepped from the room into the corridor, still warmed by the thought of her beautiful, perfect little granddaughter. Only Robb’s and Ned’s presence could have made Serena’s arrival any more perfect. As was her habit any time she thought of her husband or son, she offered a quick, silent prayer for their safety and quick return. She must write Ned about his granddaughter although she wasn’t certain where to send a letter. Letter. Suddenly, her mind was called back to that letter from Willas Tyrell. She hadn’t mentioned it to Sansa, and decided she wouldn’t. Not today, anyway. Why spoil the girl’s enjoyment of becoming an aunt. Recalling the concern on her daughter’s face every time Roslin cried out and her words about it a moment before, she thought that at least becoming an aunt, like becoming a grandmother, did have the distinct advantage of not requiring you to experience the childbirth yourself. In truth, though, while she’d been very apprehensive about giving birth when she carried Robb, she could honestly say she had never dreaded it.

_Dread._ Willas Tyrell had used that word in his letter. About Robb. What was it he had said exactly? The warmth and joy in Catelyn’s heart began to ebb as she tried to recall the words of that troubling letter. She’d been almost positive the man was trying to tell her something. What was it exactly? 

Deciding that Brynden could wait—one of the nursemaids would find her if he was hungry, after all—she turned toward Ned’s solar instead of the nursery. Once there, she discovered Maester Luwin already present, looking at the letter in question.

“So what do you think of it?” she asked, causing him to look up.

“It is poorly phrased, my lady,” Luwin said carefully. “And that surprises me. Lord Willas seemed a very well-spoken man when he was here. This sentence, for example.” He pointed to the end of the first paragraph. “ _Would that Eddard Oathbreaker only knew what his crimes could cost his family and what dread he has brought upon his House._ That’s very unwieldy, particularly the last part. Does he mean to say that Lord Eddard has given us cause to dread? It would certainly make more sense had he phrased it that way.”

“Dread,” Catelyn repeated. “He uses that word about Robb, too.” She scanned down the brief letter and pointed. “ _Only dread awaits him, and for your sake, I am sorry._ ”

“It’s here, too,” the maester said. “ _Justice must be served, and dread will come to Northern traitors._ He uses the word three times, my lady, and always in a most awkward fashion. It seems another word would have served him better.”

“Yes,” Catelyn said thoughtfully. “Maester Luwin, I believe the man is trying to tell us something that he cannot state plainly. Twice in this letter, he has used nearly the exact same words spoken between us during his visit. Once he became very incensed when I insinuated that he might be here as a Lannister agent, declaring that he was no man’s puppet. Mayhap his inclusion of this bit about not being a Stark puppet is to remind me of that. Maybe he’s telling me he remains independent in his actions—or at least as independent as one can be in King’s Landing.

“It is possible,” Maester Luwin said somewhat doubtfully. “But he could merely be stating the fact that he has no loyalty to us whatsoever.”

“Why would he need to put that into a letter to me? I would assume as much once he broke the betrothal and called my husband an oathbreaker. It’s unnecessary to state it there!”

Maester Luwin appeared to think carefully. “You have a point. What is the other instance of his repeating words from his visit?”

“Here,” she said, pointing. “But they were my words, not his. When I encouraged him to leave Winterfell sooner than he had planned, I let him know that I was well aware that he might suspect certain things, but that he honestly did not know such things. Knowledge carries a certain responsibility to act, while a person can simply ignore suspicion if one chooses.”

The maester smiled at her, “And you informed the man that an earlier departure might protect him from the burden of knowledge?”

“More or less.”

“You are a very clever woman, Lady Catelyn. Lord Stark says the same quite often.”

“Be that as it may, do you see how he’s used my words here?”

“Yes,” the maester says slowly. “It is not precisely the same, of course. He seems to be commenting upon the difficulty of acting upon mere suspicion as opposed to actual knowledge rather than making your point about the responsibility that accompanies knowledge, but not necessarily suspicion. Still, the similarity cannot be coincidental, I agree.”

“It’s not coincidental,” Catelyn said certainly. “I know it isn’t. The man is trying to tell me something, Maester Luwin. Something that I need to know in order to take some action. This entire letter is ridiculous otherwise.”

“You honestly believe that Willas Tyrell, brother to Tommen Baratheon’s Queen, seeks to aid and abet House Stark in removing Tommen from the Iron Throne?” 

Phrased like that, it sounded more than unlikely. “I don’t know!” Catelyn nearly exploded, “But there’s something here. And . . . I do believe he would try to protect Sansa at least. Yes, given the opportunity, he would protect Sansa.” She struggled to recall the man’s precise words to that effect. _Remember what I told you in the godswood. I am no man’s puppet, and I will do nothing less than right by her, whether or not she ever becomes my wife._ “I can’t imagine Tyrell acting directly against his family, no. But if he knew of a specific threat to us . . . he might at least seek to give us warning.”

“And where is his warning then? What specifically does he tell you here? He repeats snippets of past conversations and uses the word dread repeatedly. What do you take from that?”

_Repeatedly,_ Catelyn thought. _Three times, to be specific—regarding House Stark, the North, and Robb. Dread, dread, dread. Dread is brought upon. Dread awaits. Dread will come._

“Oh gods,” she suddenly whispered. She felt sick, and she reached her hands out to Ned’s desk to steady herself.

“What is it, my lady?” Maester Luwin asked in alarm.

“It’s Bolton,” she said in desolate voice. “The man is warning us against Lord Bolton. The Dreadfort, Maester Luwin. Think about it! You saw the letter he sent Ned regarding Brynden and myself. He’s ever been the bannerman Ned trusts least. He’s cunning and cruel. He turns a blind eye to the depravities of that bastard of his regardless of how many complaints are received against him! We have to warn Robb!”

“I thought Lord Bolton remained at the Dreadfort, Lady Stark.”

“So he did, but he sent men with Robb’s army. I know not how many. If Bolton is truly in league with the Lannisters, then gods only know how those men may act to betray Robb!”

“My lady,” Luwin said gravely, “I do not wish to be an alarmist, but with both Lord Robb and Lord Stark gone from Winterfell, is it not also possible that any threat from Lord Bolton might be directed here? Particularly since Lord Bolton remains in the North?”

“Of course we are under threat here!” Catelyn exclaimed. “Tyrell mentions dread three times—with House Stark, the North, and Robb. It would appear the Lord of the Dreadfort is certainly plotting against us and merely awaits his chance to come at us—here or in the south. Or both. In any event, we must send a rider to Robb now! I fear it will take far too long to get word to him, but we cannot possibly risk a raven. I wouldn’t know where to send it in any event.”

“I’ll have Ser Rodrik send the best rider we have—and one who can be trusted implicitly.”

“Very good. As for any threat to Winterfell . . . the man would be a damned fool to attack us outright. But I fear he can stir up negative opinion easily enough. The Night’s Watch is not as revered as it once was, but its oath is held more sacred here in the North than anywhere else. I fear this talk of my husband as Eddard Oathbreaker may strike a nerve with more than a few men—especially those who’ve had relatives sent to the Wall for any reason. And Jon Snow’s policy of allowing wildlings through the Wall won’t win Ned any friends. Every lord in the North has reason to oppose that course of action, and they’re likely to blame Ned for his bastard’s policy—particularly if they see him as having abandoned the Night’s Watch to the boy’s keeping!”

“These are valid concerns, my lady. But how would you counter them?”

“Northmen follow strength. We must show that Winterfell and House Stark stand strongly for the North above all things. And Ned must be seen as the undisputed Lord of Winterfell. He needs to know of this threat, Maester Luwin. It may impact his actions to the North.”

“Shall I send a rider north as well, my lady?”

She shook her head. “No. I can get word to him sooner through Last Hearth. I trust Smalljon Umber with my life, regardless of how he feels about the wildings. I can send him a letter for Ned, and he will get it to him without fail. In the meantime, we need to learn as much as we can about what Roose Bolton is doing, and with whom. Do you know of anyone who can be of assistance in that?”

“I am hardly a spymaster, my lady. But might I suggest contacting Lord Manderly? He is rather well versed in intrigue, and I daresay he is one of Lord Stark’s most loyal bannermen.”

“He is. But White Harbor is much too big and busy a place for me to trust a raven. That will require a rider as well, I’m afraid.”

“I shall have it done. You wish to write the letters yourself, Lady Stark?”

She nodded. “I will do so now. If you could, have Elin or somebody bring Brynden to me here when you go out to arrange for the riders. I fear he will be hungry long before I finish writing.”

“Yes, my lady. I also need to see Lady Roslin again. Simply to make certain that all is as well with her as it seemed after your granddaughter’s birth.”

The thought of sweet little Serena brought a smile to Catelyn’s face in spite of her worries. “Of course,” she said. “Do see to Roslin first. It will take me a bit of time to get these letters written. I shall start with Robb’s and then the one for Lord Manderly so that the riders can head out with haste. Then I shall write Ned’s.” It made her feel sick to think that she couldn’t even share the news of their granddaughter with her husband without also giving him ill tidings.

“Very good, my lady.”

Catelyn had been standing and pacing Ned’s solar throughout her conversation with the maester. Now she sank into Ned’s chair and sat still for a moment, simply breathing in and out as she attempted to calm herself and gather her thoughts. Then she took a blank piece of parchment and dipped a quill into the ink. The letter to Robb was fairly straightforward, after all. _I have reliable information that Roose Bolton is plotting against us. Do not trust any of his men. Guard yourself against them however you must. Do not rely upon them to carry out any task of importance._

She sighed heavily. She wanted desperately to write him that he had a daughter. That his daughter was beautiful and perfect. That she wished he could come home right away to see and hold his child. But it was not her place to write such things. That was for Roslin. Sighing, she silently resolved to take parchment and quill to Roslin this evening. She could send a letter to the Twins by raven. There was nothing secret about the young Lady Stark bearing a daughter for her husband, and wherever Walder Frey’s questionable political loyalties may lie, he surely would send a rider out with his daughter’s word of such an event to her husband. If the bird from Winterfell to the Twins flew truly and quickly, Robb might even hear of his newborn daughter before he heard of the treachery of the Boltons. She wanted him to have that joy unspoiled by such evil tidings, but she couldn’t delay sending word. His life could well depend upon this letter she wrote now.

She had just finished Robb’s letter when a knock sounded upon the door of Ned’s solar.

“Come in,” she said absently.

“I hear that congratulation are in order, Lady Stark.”

Catelyn looked up to see Selyse Baratheon standing in the doorway and made an effort not to sigh in exasperation. She didn’t need a visitation from Her Grace at the moment.

“Thank you, Your Grace,” she said. “My granddaughter’s arrival is a bit earlier than expected, but she and her mother are both doing very well.”

“I had expected to find you in attendance on them when I heard the news, and yet I discover you here,” the queen said, walking on into the room.

“Roslin was exhausted, and Serena had gone to sleep. I wished to allow them to rest.”

The queen’s eyes went to Catelyn’s letter to Robb which lay in front of her. Carefully, Catelyn picked it up and placed it in the top drawer of Ned’s desk, careful not to smudge the ink which was not yet dry.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt you, Lady Stark,” Selyse said in a tone of voice that made it perfectly clear she wanted to know precisely what Catelyn had been doing.

“You didn’t interrupt me,” Catelyn said as nonchalantly as she could. “I just finished a letter to my husband.”

“Anything of importance to communicate to him?”

“I certainly think so. I wrote to tell him he has a granddaughter.”

“Oh. Hopefully, he won’t be too terribly disappointed he hasn’t got a grandson.”

Catelyn’s flash of anger was followed immediately by guilt at the memory of her own brief disappointment. Ned would not have Serena there to see and hold when he received the letter she actually would write for him once she’d gotten rid of this insufferable woman. Would that make it more difficult for him to rejoice in the birth of a girl? She didn’t think so. He’d never shown the slightest bit of disappointment in Sansa or Arya. Of course, he’d already had an heir in Robb then. She bit her lip as she considered his potential reaction and decided he would be overjoyed simply to learn he was a grandfather and that Robb’s child had come into the world healthy and his wife was well. “He will be pleased with Serena,” Catelyn said firmly. “Just as he will with Robb’s future sons and daughters.”

“Her name is Serena? That isn’t very common.”

“It’s a Stark family name—or at least one that has been used in the Stark family. And I think it’s very pretty.”

“Ah yes. Well, if you think your gooddaughter is rested enough, and you are finished here, I should very much like to see this new grandchild of yours.”

Catelyn had no time for this, but she had no wish for Selyse Baratheon to know her present concerns either. Just as she had nearly resigned herself to making a trip back to Roslin’s room with the queen, another knock came at the door.

“Milady?” Elin’s voice. “Little Brynden is needing you, I’m afraid.”

“Come in, Elin,” Catelyn called with relief.

As soon as the door opened and he saw her, Brynden began reaching for her and squealing. Catelyn laughed. “Starving to death are you, my son?”

Elin joined in her laughter as she stepped into the room. “You’d think it to listen to him, wouldn’t you, milady?” She then saw Selyse Baratheon standing there and stopped short. “Your Grace,” she said hurriedly, dropping into a deep curtsy as well she could while holding a squirming baby. 

Selyse nodded to her, indicating she could rise, and then turned to Catelyn. “When do you mean to wean that child, Lady Stark?”

“Wean him, Your Grace?” Catelyn asked. “He hasn’t even seen his first nameday yet. It’s hardly time to wean him.”

“The princess had a wet nurse,” she said, not for the first time, as if feeding her own child was somehow suspect behavior on Catelyn’s part.

“Well, young Brynden seems quite content with having just me,” Catelyn said, not even caring if the queen noticed the edge to her voice. “I shall have to feed him, Your Grace, but if you like, I will go with you to call upon Roslin and Serena a bit later.”

“That will be fine. I shall be within my chambers.” She then turned and left the solar without another word as Elin handed Catelyn her son.

“Thank you, Elin,” Catelyn sighed sinking back down into Ned’s chair with Brynden who began pawing desperately at her gown.

“Can I get you anything else, Lady Catelyn?”

Catelyn shook her head as she opened the laces of her gown to allow Brynden to find the teat he so desperately sought. “No, thank you. Could you wait here to take him when he’s had his fill, though? I’m afraid I have more work to do.”

“Of course, milady.” 

“You’re welcome to sit over there by the hearth where it’s warmer,” Catelyn said.

Using a quill while nursing a baby was task Catelyn felt was beyond her, particularly since her hands had been maimed by that damned assassin. So, she simply leaned back and began composing Lord Manderly’s letter in her head while Brynden took his fill. He resisted going back to Elin when he had finished, but didn’t fuss too badly. Catelyn hated handing him off so quickly, but she had to finish these letters. And she had to do it before Selyse Baratheon came back around to see why she hadn’t come to take her to see the new baby.

Maester Luwin returned just as she was finishing her letter for Ned.

“The riders are preparing to leave now, my lady. Are these the letters?”

“Yes. Tell them each to carry their letter on their person at all times. They are not to read them, and if they are taken by anyone they are to destroy the letters immediately. I don’t care if they burn them or eat them, but no one save Robb and Lord Manderly are to read these letters.”

“Of course, my lady. You may depend upon it.”

“And here are the letters for Last Hearth. I’ve included one for Smalljon Umber.”

“I will send the raven as soon as I’ve seen the riders off.”

“Thank you, Maester Luwin. I don’t know what I would do without you.”

“Oh, I think you would do very well, Lady Stark,” he said with a small smile. “But I am happy to be of some service.”

“Roslin and the babe were well?”

“Very well, my lady. She asked if you would be back soon.”

“I shall be there very soon. The queen has asked to see them, so I shall take her there. I intend to ask Roslin if she’d like to send a letter to the Twins. Likely her father can get a rider to Robb long before we can.” She shook her head sadly. The maester knew very well why her letter to Robb could not be trusted to go through the Twins.

Once Luwin left, Catelyn remained seated in her husband’s chair a few moments longer. She could almost feel him here, and she needed to feel him. She missed him constantly, but in moments like this the ache was worse than usual. She wanted to share the joy of Serena with him. She wanted to know if he thought she was doing right in the matter of Willas Tyrell’s letter and Roose Bolton. She wanted him to tell her she wasn’t a terrible mother when it seemed that she would scarcely speak to most of her children until the evening meal in the Great Hall. She was so terrified for Robb now that she actually trembled when she thought of him, and she wanted Ned’s arms around her holding on to her while she shook. She needed him.

“Do what you must, my love,” she whispered. “Do what you must to keep us all safe. Be the strong Lord of Winterfell that the North needs. Be everything that you must be for everyone. Then come home to me. Please, Ned. Come home safe to me.”


	22. Eddard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I last updated this story in 2015! That's beyond abysmally long, and I am truly sorry. If anyone remembers the tale, though, I have finally finished this next chapter, and the one after it will come within the month--hopefully within the next two weeks. I have never given up or abandoned this story. Nor has my love of writing it (or any of my other unfinished works) waned. Unfortunately, the time I need to truly write as I wish abandoned me over the last year, I'm afraid.  
> I cannot promise there will not be any more delays in updates, but I do hope none shall be this long again.

Harrion Karstark’s cold glare left Ned Stark in no doubt that the situation at Rimegate was as bad, if not worse, as Jon Umber had detailed in his letter. Umber stood beside Karstark now as the Stark party approached and looked as grim as Ned had ever seen him—and the gods knew he’d seen the big man very grim on too many occasions. At least a dozen other men stood behind those two—some he recognized as Northmen and others who were surely wildlings, but none of them hailed the Starks as they rode forward, and Ned felt suddenly colder than he’d been during the entire brutally rushed trip north. 

“Lord Stark,” Jon Umber finally said, bowing as Ned halted his horse almost directly in front of him. “You are a welcome sight, my lord.”

Karstark seemed to hesitate, but then bowed as well, although much less formally. “It is good of you to have stirred yourself from your castle, my lord,” the young man said, his voice as cold as his eyes. “Would that you had done so sooner.”

Ned chose to ignore the challenge in those words, preferring to know what had transpired here since Jon’s letter before making any judgments or escalating what was obviously already a tense situation. “I am here now,” he said simply, dismounting and handing the reins of his horse to a Winterfell boy who had quickly come forward as soon as he saw his lord rise up in his saddle. Ned felt the boy, like many in his party was likely too young to be a part of this endeavor at all, but with men needed in far too many places at present, he had to accept what men he had available, even if they were truly only boys. Harwin had assured him this lad was quick to follow instructions and good with horses, and thus far the boy had certainly lived up to the horse master’s faith in him. Ned gave him a brief nod of acknowledgement before turning back to Karstark and Umber. “We’ve ridden hard from Winterfell. If your men could see to my men and their horses, I would speak with both of you.”

“Only them?” A rough looking, thickly bearded man who’d been slightly behind Jon Umber stepped forward. He did not bow. “You only speak to kneelers, Lord Stark?”

“I would speak to any man who has charge of men here. I know Lord Umber and Lord Harrion. Might I have your name?”

“Halleck,” the man nearly spat. “The men the kneelers murdered were mine. I came here for justice and found none. Their killers are kept warm and fed in that keep while my men are made to camp in the snow.”

“Your men . . .” Harrion started to say, but Ned held up his hand and gave the heir to the Karhold a look that silenced him. He then turned to Jon Umber. “We should go somewhere and speak, my lord.” As both Karstark and Halleck began to protest, he interjected, “All four of us.” When the men fell silent again, he continued, “I will hear each of you, but I will not abide any man interrupting another. Do you understand?” Karstark muttered something under his breath, but all three men nodded. “Lead on then, Jon.”

Umber gave some orders to some of the men milling around concerning lodging for the Winterfell men and care of their horses. Karstark and Halleck both spoke to men as well, and Ned saw clearly there were three different factions present—both among the relatively small group which had assembled to meet him and other men who’d gradually drawn nearer to hear what was being said. “This way, my lord,” the Greatjon then said, and Ned fell into step beside him as the other two men followed.

It occurred to Ned then whom he hadn’t seen. “Where is Cregan Karstark?” he asked softly. “Do you have him confined?”

“He’s dead,” Umber muttered softly, and once again Ned felt a chill that had nothing to do with the cold.

They didn’t speak again until Jon had led them inside the castle—although calling Rimegate a castle was to redefine the word. At least the small room they entered had a fire in the hearth, and Ned moved toward it gratefully, removing his gloves and rubbing his hands together to warm them.

“Frostbite?” 

He hadn’t realized the wildling was standing beside him until he spoke, and he looked up to find the man staring at his hands.

“Yes,” he replied simply, looking down at his maimed left hand. “Climbing the Wall—after the massacre at the Fist of the First Men.”

The wilding’s eyes widened. “You were there?” 

“I was.”

“Are we going to speak about my cousin’s murder or reminisce about your days in the Night’s Watch, Lord Stark?” Harrion Karstark interjected.

“That’s your liege lord, Harrion,” Greatjon said sharply. “It does you little credit when a damn wildling addresses him more respectfully than you do. Now take off your cloak and sit down. You too, Halleck.” He reached out a hand toward Ned, indicating his cloak. “My lord?”

Ned handed his cloak and gloves to Jon who laid them aside as the other two men removed their own outer garments. Ned seated himself in one of the wooden chairs and watched as Halleck, who did not appear offended at having been referred to as a ‘damn wildling’ did the same. Jon sat as well, and then sighed loudly at Karstark who stood rather sullenly in a corner. “Sit down, Harrion,” he said tiredly.

As Harrion Karstark took a seat as far as possible from Halleck, Ned began to speak. “I received Lord Umber’s letter and am aware of the wight attack on the patrol from here at Rimegate and Cregan Karstark’s raid on Sable Hall.”

“There is no evidence the patrol was attacked by wights! My men inform me that all of the attackers were wildlings!” Harrion interjected.

“They had been free folk in life,” Halleck acknowledged. “Soren Shieldbreaker’s men. They’d been sent out from Stonedoor by Lord Crow’s order. Disappeared about a fortnight before the attack.”

That had not been in Jon’s letter. Before Ned could ask about it, Harrion Karstark protested once more that no one had truly identified the attackers.

“Were you here during the attack, Lord Harrion?” Ned asked, interrupting him.

“You know I was not,” he replied.

“Lord Umber,” Ned said, turning toward Jon, “What do you know of these men from Stonedoor? You said nothing of it in your letter.”

“I knew nothing of it then, my lord. The letter asking if the men had arrived came after I wrote you.”

“Stonedoor is far to the west of here. What reason did the Lord Commander give for sending them?”

“It started with Maege Mormont’s notion,” Jon replied. “New wildlings keep showing up at the Wall, clamoring to get through. With some of the waycastles manned entirely by wildlings not sworn to the Night’s Watch, there is some concern that they’ll be given free entry into the North, my lord—with no way of knowing how many there even are. Castle Black and Eastwatch are the only approved points of entry, but no one trusts the wildlings, and Lady Mormont asked that the Lord Commander send out men to the wildling-held castles to be certain they aren’t violating that rule.”

“And Jon sent wildings for that task?” Ned asked in confusion.

“No,” Halleck said quickly. “When the crows showed up to inspect Stonedoor, Soren asked them if they were also inspecting the waycastles manned by kneelers that aren’t in the Night’s Watch. He figured that while the crows may listen to their Lord Commander, a pack of noblemen forever squabbling over their own bits of land and their House names and arms were no more likely to heed the orders of a jumped up bastard than to welcome free folk into their courtyards. He asked if he could send out men of his own to be certain the free folk weren’t being shot any time they approached the Wall at the kneelers’ castle.” 

Ned clenched his jaw and breathed deeply at this further evidence of the discord between the wildlings and the Northmen. “And you’re saying these men were killed at some point on their journey, rose up as wights, and then attacked Cregan Karstark’s patrol?”

“Aye.”

“None of our men would attack and kill men without provocation—not even godless wildlings!” Harrion insisted.

Halleck narrowed his eyes at him. “Your kinsmen stabbed men in their sleepsacks. What provocation did those sleeping men give him. eh?” he asked in a low and dangerous voice. Karstark remained silent at that, looking away. Cregan then turned back to Ned. “I ain’t sayin’ any of your kneelers killed the men from Stonedoor. Maybe they ran afoul of wights themselves. Maybe another group of free folk attacked them. There are killers among the free folk just as there are among your people, Lord Stark. I won’t say any different. But somehow they ended up dead, and it’s dead men that attacked that patrol. Dead men got no mind. No conscience. You can’t bring ‘em to justice or hold ‘em accountable. You just put ‘em down like you would a mad beast.” He shook his head slowly. “But it’s living men that killed my people at Sable Hall. And living men must answer for their actions.”

“No one can say who the men were who attacked that patrol, my lord!” Karstark insisted. “Or what happened to the wildlings from Stonedoor. For all this talk of wights, we know only that they’ve disappeared and . . .”

“All this _talk_ of wights?” thundered Jon Umber. “You doubt my word, boy? You doubt me and all the men here when we tell you how your cousin’s own dead men rose up after that raid—mindless, murderous, impervious to reason or pain? The wights are not mere talk!”

“I never said the damn things don’t exist!” Harrion shouted back, rising from his seat. “Only that my cousin claimed it was living wildlings who set upon him and his men, and if that cannot be disproven then his raid on Sable Hall was justified!”

Jon and Halleck both began to protest, rising from their seats as well, and Ned shouted two words over the angry voices. “Enough! Sit!” He did not move from his seat nor look up at any of them. He simply sat still as stone as they glared at one another for a long moment before slowly sinking back into their seats.

After a moment, Ned turned to Harrion Karstark. “Let us say you are correct, my lord, and there is no convincing evidence the attack on Cregan Karstark’s patrol was carried out by wights.” He held up his hand to silence the protests of Jon Umber and Halleck. “Even then, Cregan’s actions at Sable Hall were not only unjustified. They were dishonorable.”

“But . . . but . . .” Harrion sputtered.

“If any of the wildlings perpetrated that attack, then Cregan, yourself, your lord father, Lord Umber and I would all be entitled to justice. For all of us have a claim on men who were lost that night. Every single man, woman, and child of the North is mine to protect and mine to avenge should harm come to them. Have you forgotten that, Harrion? Or do you believe I have forgotten it?”

Ned did not take his eyes from young Karstark’s face, and, to his credit, the heir of Karstark did not look away from him. “No, my lord.” The words came out somewhat choked, but Ned had seen older men fare worse in the face of his cold anger. Harrion was a good bit older than Robb, but still a young man.

“Justice is mine to administer in the North,” he continued more softly. “Or for my bannermen to administer in my name. Justice is not slaughter, and there is no justice in killing an unarmed man in his sleep regardless of what you know or suspect that man has done. Do you disagree with that, Lord Harrion?”

“No, my lord. I don’t. But . . . they are wildlings. Godless barbarians without laws or . . .”

“That’s the second time you’ve called us godless, boy!” Halleck snarled. “We worship the same gods you do, kneeler, and I’ll not hear you say that a third time.”

“They may have lived beyond the Wall without laws, Harrion,” Ned said softly. “They may attempt to flaunt our laws on this side of the Wall, and that must be addressed. But nothing they do absolves us of our duty to follow the law. If we forget that, then we become barbarians ourselves.”

Karstark did look down then, silently studying a spot on the earthen floor as if it might hold an answer for him.

“Did you speak to your cousin yourself when you arrived here?”

Harrion looked up swiftly, a flash of anger in his eyes. “It’s hard to speak to a dead man,” he said bitterly.

So Cregan Karstark had been killed before Harrion’s arrival at Rimegate. Ned marveled that Jon Umber had managed to keep even this tenuous sort of peace as long as he had. “How did he die?” he asked, looking to Jon Umber.

“I killed him,” Jon said flatly, looking directly at him.

Of all the things Ned had thought to hear, that response was not among them. “Why?” he asked simply.

The big man took a deep breath. “I had Cregan and his men confined to the castle. He didn’t like that much. I allowed them to pretty much free movement within the confines of Rimegate, but they were always escorted when leaving their quarters.” He looked toward Halleck. “I told Halleck I had written you and we would await your word before taking any action. He didn’t like that any better than Karstark liked his confinement.”

Halleck snorted.

“I couldn’t bring the wildlings into the castle without risking violence for all that I had Karstark’s men under guard. Hells! My own men like the wildlings no better than his do, and while I knew they’d obey me well enough when it came to preventing the Karstarks from leaving, I couldn’t guarantee they wouldn’t look the other way if somebody decided to beat the life out of one the Sable Hall men. I told Halleck to take his men back to Sable Hall, and I’d send word when I heard from you. He said he wasn’t going anywhere while Cregan and his men remained here, and he’s been camped just west of the castle ever since.”

Ned glanced at Halleck who said nothing, his bearded face impassive as he waited for Umber to continue. Ned assumed that meant he had no significant argument with the Greatjon’s presentation of the facts thus far. 

“There were fights. Some were vicious, and I daresay there was fault on both sides,” Jon continued. “But no further bloodshed. No further wights. Then just two days before Lord Harrion here arrived, a one of the camp followers, a whore from near the Karhold who’d come North when Cregan and his men did, was raped. By a wildling.”

“She weren’t raped. She was stolen. He paid her just like the men here do, but then he liked her enough he thought he’d keep her. She didn’t belong to any man here so she was fair game. And it wasn’t her that called it rape. It was the men who wouldn’t get to fuck her anymore.”

Ned stared at Halleck, scarcely knowing what to say to such a thing. “Whatever you call it, Halleck, a man does not have a right to take a woman just because he wants her.” Unbidden, thoughts of Rhaegar Targaryen and his sister came to his mind. Of course, she hadn’t fought him at all, choosing to go with him of her own free will. Yet the Seven Kingdoms went to war over that “rape.” He wondered whether this camp follower had made a choice or not. He wondered if anyone had asked her. He sighed. “What happened to that man?”

“Cregan Karstark killed him,” Jon Umber said.

“I thought he was confined with his men.”

“He was. When he heard about the rape, and heard that I’d locked the man up, he managed to bribe one of his guards into giving him a knife. He killed his own guard that night and then killed the rapist.” 

“You executed him,” Ned said softly, realizing what had happened. 

Jon nodded. “Along with the guard who gave him the knife. He was a soldier of Last Hearth. Just like the guard Karstark killed. I took their heads for murdering a man of Last Hearth, a soldier under my protection.”

Ned understood Jon’s words as well as what he didn’t say. Executing a member of House Karstark and one of his soldiers for killing a wildling rapist would almost certainly have led to open revolt, but while the Last Hearth men may resent being ordered to keep the Karhold men under lock and key and therefore offering some modicum of protection to the wildlings, they cannot truly object to their lord for executing the man who murdered one of their own, nor the man who gave him the weapon. He turned toward Halleck. “Cregan Karstark has been executed. What more do you want, Halleck?”

Halleck laughed. “You’re funny, Lord Stark. I burned forty-two corpses. Forty-two corpses that were living, breathing men before they were murdered as they slept or as they woke in terror, grabbing whatever they could find to defend themselves. And Cregan Karstark didn’t kill all those men by himself. Yet he’s the only one dead. And he didn’t die for that crime. Your Lord Umber here didn’t even mention it when he took off his head. I know. I was there to watch. You said justice here is yours to dispense. Do you call that justice?”

“No,” Ned said softly. “I do not.”

“Then give me the rest of the men locked up in this place, and I’ll be on my way. Or you could just give me their heads, if you prefer. I can put them on spears like your King Stannis did my sister’s after he killed her.” Halleck laughed again at the shock that must have shown on his face. “Oh, she’d have killed him if he hadn’t done for her first. Harma killed a lot of men before she died.” He grinned. “I think she’d like it if I put these men’s heads on spears like her dogs.”

Ned had to suppress a shiver at the man’s words and expression. While he did not deny that the dead wildlings deserved justice, he wondered if he would ever truly understand these people and doubted more than ever that they could live peaceably among his own people in the North. 

“My lord,” Jon Umber said. “There is more we should speak of. Your . . . the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch is coming here.”

 _Jon? Jon is coming here?_ Ned tried to remain focused on the serious problems facing him here, but for a moment all he could think was that he would see his son again and how sweet that would be. “Why?” he finally managed to ask.

“Because he’s the one who put wildlings in these waycastles. And the one who’s insisting on letting more and more of them come through the Wall. This is his problem as much as it is ours, and I told him so in my letter. So he’s coming.” Umber sounded less than pleased with Jon’s management of the wildlings, but given the situation the man currently found himself in, Ned couldn’t truly fault him.

“When will he arrive?” 

“Bloody soon, I hope. I wrote him not long after I wrote you, and Castle Black is a damned sight closer than Winterfell. He responded by raven quickly enough, requested that I not take any rash actions.” Jon frowned at that. “And advised me that he would make all possible haste to Rimegate. So now I wait.”

“My men are not subject to orders from the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch,” Harrion said softly. It was the first he had spoken in a great while. “They answer to myself and to Lord Stark. Now that Lord Stark is present, you have no authority over them either, Lord Umber.” He turned toward Ned. “Do you intend to turn the men of the Karhold who are still held in Rimegate over to this wildling to be murdered and have their bodies desecrated or am I free to take them back to the Karhold?”

All three men looked at Ned intently. He sighed. “The Karhold men will not be turned over to Halleck.” Before anyone could react to that pronouncement, he added, “Nor will they go free. They committed a crime, Lord Harrion. The fact that they committed it against wildlings makes it no less a crime, and they must be held accountable. As for taking any of your men back to the Karhold, there are wights rising this side of the Wall. We know not where the Others may be. We know not when or where they may try to cross the Wall. Your men are needed here, my lord.”

“And what of you, my lord? Will you remain here to defend the North against unknown threats as well? Or return to the safety of Winterfell?” There was a challenge in the younger man’s voice.

Ned took a deep breath. “Jon,” he said softly. “I would like to speak with Lord Harrion privately, if I may. I would also like to speak with you afterward.” He turned toward Halleck. “I think you’ve made your position clear. I can promise you that anyone who took part in that raid will be brought to justice. But it will be our justice—our laws—which decide their fates. Not yours. Whether that satisfies you or not, that is how it shall be. If you choose to make a home in our lands, you will be subject to our laws. I will not ask you to kneel or swear fealty to me, but you and your people will recognize the laws of the Seven Kingdoms and my authority to enforce them in this land or you will not be allowed to remain here. There is no other way forward.”

Halleck regarded him silently a moment, gave a very short nod which might have signified assent or simply leavetaking, grabbed his cloak, and left without saying anything.

“I’ll make certain your men have been given appropriate quarters,” Jon said when he had been gone. “We’ve very little in the way of niceties here, but the buildings are at least sound enough. I’ll be in my quarters after that. Anyone here can guide you there.”

Ned nodded. “Thank you, Jon,” he said.

“Harrion,” Ned said when Lord Umber had gone as well, “Please sit back down.” They had all stood up as the other men left. “I am sorry for your loss. But you must know that had I been here, I would have done the same as Lord Umber regarding your cousin.”

Harrion said nothing.

“Have you spoken to the men who rode to Sable Hall with Cregan?” Ned asked after a moment.

Harrion nodded.

“And what have they told you of it?”

“That depends upon which man I ask, my lord. I spoke with them separately, you see. My father always told me that when the truth is in question, make each man speak to it on his own.”

“Wise counsel,” Ned said softly.

Harrion nodded again. “Some of them spoke as I imagine Cregan would have. Full of anger for the deaths of our men on that patrol. Needing to blame someone.” He looked at Ned. “Wildlings are amoral, my lord. You know that’s true. With so many of them south of the Wall, they are certainly the most likely perpetrators.”

“Only not all of your men were certain of that, were they? However much they hate the wildlings.”

Harrion shook his head. “They were dressed like wildlings. There was great agreement there. But more than half the men did tell me there was something wrong with them. They moved . . . wrong. Their eyes were wrong.” He looked directly at Ned’s eyes. “And several told me they couldn’t be killed. They swore they’d buried their swords within them, but these men wouldn’t die.” He shook his head. “That’s hard to believe, my lord.”

“Not for me,” Ned told him. “I’ve fought wights, Harrion. They can’t be killed because they’re already dead. If you hack off a limb, both the wight and its limb will keep coming for you. It’s a sight to make you feel you’re going mad.”

Harrion Karstark shivered. “I’ve no wish to see that, my lord. But I am no craven. I will defend the North against such creatures if I must. But I would also defend it against wildlings. I cannot defend my cousin’s actions at Sable Hall. I know that. But I also know that the wildlings are dangerous. There is a reason parents tell children the wildlings will steal them to frighten them out of misbehaving. Wildlings have stolen children—even when few of them were south of the Wall. Lord Umber’s own cousin—Mors Crowfood’s daughter--was taken by wildlings and never seen again. Lord Umber has no more love for the barbarians that my cousin and his men killed than I do.”

“And you think I love the wildlings?” Ned asked him.

“I think your bastard must. He has certainly welcomed them with open arms.”

“You are mistaken,” Ned said simply. “The current Lord Commander repelled the wildlings when they assaulted the Wall when he was merely a steward—leading the battle when there were no other leaders coming forward. He fought them with boiling oil and frozen rocks and flaming arrows. I don’t think they enjoyed the welcome at all.”

“Yet now he seems intent upon bringing them all south of the Wall. You cannot deny that, my lord.”

“He fought them when they came as invaders, Harrion, and would do so again. Now they come as refugees. They give up their wealth and even their children as hostages simply to have those children south of the Wall. You have heard the men here speak of wights and you rightly believe such creatures must be terrifying. But I have also fought Others, and I tell you truly, I’d rather face a hundred wights than even one of those fell creatures. The wildlings have no defense against them. Even fire does not burn them. Winter is coming, and I fear that when this winter comes, no man, woman, or child north of the Wall will survive it.”

Harrion Karstark swallowed. “And is that truly such a terrible thing, my lord?” he asked softly. “It sounds cruel, I know. But if these people cannot live in peace, even among themselves, much less here among civilized men, might the world not be better without them?” He almost whispered the question, and the expression on his face bespoke of guilt at the notion but also an earnest desire to know the answer.

“Ask yourself how long we civilized men have managed to live peaceably without warring against each other, my lord. Then ask yourself how many thieves and rapists and murderers reside in the North among our own people. If you answer those questions honestly, then mayhap you should ask the question you just voiced about us as well.”

Harrion was silent. After a moment, Ned asked, “Do you believe all the Karhold men currently held here participated in Cregan’s raid on Sable Hall?”

“Yes,” Harrion said quietly. “Some eagerly. Some reluctantly. But they all took part.”

Ned nodded. “Then they must be held accountable. I cannot demand that the wildlings abide by our laws if I do not ask the same of my own people.”

“You intend to execute them?” the younger man asked. “My father will . . .”

“Your father will abide by the orders of his liege lord,” Ned said firmly. “Even when he does not like them.” He thought of Rickard Karstark, still bitterly mourning the loss of his sons and now preparing for battle or mayhap already fighting one at Robb’s side in the south, and fervently prayed the Lord of the Karhold would remain honorable and loyal in spite of his displeasure. “But no. I do not intend to execute them. I will allow them to take the black. Only if they refuse, will their life be forfeit.”

“Even those who acted as they did only because Cregan ordered it?” Harrion asked him. 

Ned sighed deeply. “You have been at Winterfell when men have sworn fealty to me, have you not?” At Harrion’s nod, he continued. “And have you paid attention to my words when I accept their oaths? ‘I vow that you shall always have a place by my hearth and meat and mead at my table, and pledge to ask no service of you that might bring you into dishonor. I swear it by the old gods and the new.’ If a man you are sworn to obey should order you to murder unarmed men, let alone unarmed men who have done you no wrong and are sleeping in their beds, that man has violated the oath himself, and you owe him no fealty. A man of honor must refuse such an order even if it costs him his life.”

Harrion looked at him a long time before speaking. “I cannot say you are wrong, my lord. But I do not like losing good men, for they are lost to me even if they keep their lives, on account of wildlings. And I fear you will find a great number of lords and smallfolk throughout the North who will like it even less than I. Your actions here will have consequences.”

Ned looked at the younger man before him, respecting him both for his desire to truly understand Ned’s thoughts and for his willingness to meet his eyes and speak his mind. “They will,” Ned said grimly. “Any action or inaction on my part now will have consequences, my lord. I can only hope to make a choice which is both honorable and likely to have consequences we can survive.”

The conversation with young Karstark stayed with him as he went back outside. He’d lived at Castle Black long enough that the bone-chilling cold here at the Wall didn’t shock him, but it certainly wasn’t pleasant, and it gave him a moment of both guilt and sadness to think that barring brief visits south should the trouble beyond the Wall ever be sorted out, Jon would live all his life in this cold. The way Harrion Karstark had spoken of Jon had bothered him. He knew his bannermen were unhappy about the prospect of wildlings permanently settling even in Brandon’s gift, but to refer to the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch only as ‘your bastard’ spoke of a deep level of disdain and mistrust. The Northern lords needed the Night’s Watch and the Night’s Watch needed all the Northern lords. Ned prayed that Jon could navigate this situation successfully. He would help him all he could, but he must be careful. Any impression that he somehow controlled Jon would serve only to decrease further any respect both the men of the Night’s Watch and the Northern lords held for Jon or his office.

By the time he knocked on Jon Umber’s door, his mind had traveled what seemed a thousand different paths, and he liked where none of them led.

“Sit down, Ned,” the Greatjon beckoned as Ned closed the door behind him. It seemed a comfortable enough room, although the ceiling was rather low, and Umber looked positively enormous standing up to greet him. He laughed as he saw Ned’s eyes look to the top of his head. “I’ve banged my head more since I’ve come here than I have in my entire life. I think this place was originally manned by dwarves. Most of the sleeping quarters are built like this. This one’s actually sizable. I think it was originally made for more than one person, but I’m a good bit larger than one person typically is, so I made it mine.”

Having exhausted all he could say about the size of the room, Umber’s voice trailed off, and the two men simply stared at each other for a moment. Finally, the larger man sighed and asked, “How is she?”

“She’s well,” Ned said shortly. Then he took a breath and made himself answer the man’s question more fully. “As well as she can be with Robb off to war in the south for Stannis Baratheon, Selyse Baratheon making a royal nuisance of herself in Winterfell, and my leaving for the Wall.” He paused. “She read your letter before I did. She knew I’d have to come. Practically ordered me out of Winterfell.”

“And made you swear to return in one piece, no doubt.” Umber shook his head. “I cannot stand to think of her unhappy.”

Ned couldn’t stand the man thinking of his wife at all, but decided against voicing that sentiment. 

“Robb’s wife should go to the birthing bed soon,” Ned said, feeling a pang of sadness that he would miss the birth of his first grandchild just as he had missed the birth of his first child, and an even greater sadness that Robb would miss it. “That will bring her great joy. And our children are always a joy to her.”

Jon Umber nodded, and Ned stopped speaking, not knowing what else to say. Conversing with the man who spent a year pretending to be husband to his wife and father to his son would never be easy. Ignoring the fact that the man was plainly still in love with his wife was more difficult still.

“What did you tell Karstark you intend to do with his men?” Jon asked, apparently as eager for a change of subject as he was. 

“Send them to the Wall.”

He nodded. “I thought you might take that route. It will please no one, of course. But it won’t alienate anyone as badly as your other options would.”

Ned sighed. “The problems with the wildlings won’t end with this.”

Jon frowned. “Mayhap you should tell your bastard that. He’s determined to ram them down our throats whatever we have to say about it.” 

“Mayhap you should give the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch the courtesy of his title,” Ned snapped back.

Umber glared at him, and Ned took a deep breath, willing himself not to react to the man’s misplaced anger on Catelyn’s behalf. However much it irritated him that Umber felt somehow entitled to defend Catelyn’s honor against her own husband, the man had long been a friend to him and a loyal bannerman. He needed both very much right now. “Jon Snow has earned that title, Jon,” he said softly. “I didn’t give it to him—I didn’t even vote in the damn election. And I’ve taken no part in the Night’s Watch since I reclaimed my own title save for working alongside them for the defense of the North as the Lord of Winterfell should. He did not ascend to his office during an easy time, my friend, and he has not shirked his responsibilities or shied away from thorny problems or difficult decisions. I do not ask you to agree with everything he does, but I do ask that you give him the respect he deserves.”

Umber remained silent. 

Without breaking eye contact from the man who had shielded his wife and son from harm when he could not, Ned added, “I would also ask you not to judge Jon’s actions based on my own transgressions or your . . . regard . . . for my lady wife. Judge him on his own merits, and speak to him honestly of your thoughts. He is a good man, my lord. He can listen to good counsel although he’ll not abdicate his authority. The Night’s Watch is autonomous for a reason.”

Jon looked at him for a long moment and then nodded once. “I’ll hear what he has to say. I daresay Harrion won’t listen, though. And if my own son were here, he’d likely have a few less than courteous things to say to him as well.” The big man sighed and shook his head back and forth. “Look, Ned. These wildlings in the waycastles—they’re not really much different than a lot of the people who live in the far reaches of my lands. Hells, everyone south of Last Hearth finds my uncles barbaric! What was it Catelyn called them? Hoary old brigands, that’s it!” He laughed at the memory, but quickly became somber. “And they’re no wilder than most of the mountain clansmen. I know that. But . . . the mountain clans stay in their mountains, Ned. They may fight among themselves, but they’ve little interest in involving any of the rest of us. They keep to themselves, they bend the knee to Winterfell, and those few clansmen that do venture down from their mountains take up service at Winterfell or another House and abide by our ways. Join with us and don’t hold on to whatever strange customs they kept in their homes.”

Jon’s words called Ned’s maternal grandmother to his mind. He didn’t remember her well, for she had died even before his mother had. But he did recall that Arya Flint had been fiercely adamant about maintaining her clan identity and that many in Winterfell had considered her odd, indeed—as much an outsider in some ways as they’d once considered Catelyn. But he remained silent as Jon continued speaking.

“The trouble with the wildlings is that they won’t change. They want to come into our lands and yet refuse to adopt our laws and customs. And they won’t stay put, Ned! The Gift may belong to the Night’s Watch which means Jon Snow can put wildlings on it to his heart’s content, but how the bloody hells does he intend to make them stay there? We’ve had too many of them in my lands over the years—stealing livestock, robbing, raping, and yes-kidnapping—even when their only point of entry was to climb the Wall. Those numbers will rise now that they’re allowed not only to come south of the Wall, but to live here! And it won’t be just Rickard and myself or your mountain chieftains dealing with them. They’ll come further south, my lord. You’ll be arresting them at Winterfell and even down in Barrowton. They don’t belong here, Ned.”

Ned looked at his hands for a moment before responding to his friends. “I won’t say you’re wrong about the wildings who’ve climbed the Wall, Jon. But they were criminals the moment they climbed the Wall. This wasn’t their home. I imagine those men considered it reaving—rather like the Ironborn do. Now, they’re refugees. They need a home—not a pilfered goat to eat or a stolen trinket to sell. Mayhap that will make a difference. I can’t say I like letting them settle in large numbers any more than you do. But if we leave them where they are, they’ll die. And Jon, if they die in large numbers, they’ll rise in large numbers as well. If we leave them there, we’re essentially handing the Others a wight army numbering in the thousands. If, however, we can make common cause with them . . .” Ned shook his head. “I don’t know if they can live peaceably with or not. I don’t know if they will be content to remain in the Gift with the entire continent and its bounty before them. But I do know the ones who’ve come across thus far are vastly more frightened of what’s North of the Wall than they are of us. They’re willing to give up everything they have to escape it. And I wager they’ll be willing to fight like demons to keep it from following them. We could use that sort of aid.”

Jon made a rather non-committal sound in his throat. “Mayhap,” he said. “But if the wildlings and Northmen at the Wall kill each other before the Others ever arrive here, who’s left to defend anyone?”

“That’s why I’m here now,” Ned answered. “This fighting amongst ourselves must end. I am tired, Jon. We rode here entirely too fast and rested too little. I’d like to write Catelyn and let her know we’ve arrived if you have a raven to spare and then rest just a bit. Then I’d like to walk among the men here and speak with them. Yours, Karstarks, the wildlings. I need to hear what’s in their minds.”

“You won’t like it, my lord,” Jon said grimly.

Ned feared he was right.

Over the next three days, Ned spoke with many men including every Karstark man who’d attacked the wildlings at Sable Hall. He told each of them he’d found them guilty of murder and gave them the opportunity to take the black. All accepted although many spat at him and called him a wildling-lover, an oathbreaker, and any number of other things. Other men were not quite so angry at him personally, but no one at Rimegate felt at ease, and there was no love at all between the Northmen and the wildlings. On the morning of the fourth day, he had all of the prisoners assembled outside to be formally sentenced before everyone, and there were more men in the yard than he’d seen there together since his arrival. The mood was restless and angry. Still, he refused to dispense justice in hiding, and he allowed each man to answer his charge and sentence in front of these witnesses, standing with his jaw tightly clamped shut as many of them vilified both the wildlings and himself. Some also had angry words for Jon. As none were being executed, they could not be silenced by the sword so those who continued to shout beyond their moment to speak were dragged back to the rest, and four of them required gags. There was a great grumbling among many of the Karstark and Umber men at that. The wildlings were livid that the men were not to be executed. Armed Winterfell men and Umber men whose loyalty Jon trusted implicitly stood between the two groups to prevent angry words from escalating into violence.

Ned had carefully chosen the last man to speak. He hoped the man would speak here as he had spoken to Ned privately. He hoped that the man’s words could help calm some of the tensions created by the words of some of those who’d come before him. He was a powerfully built man with a hard, weathered-looking face which made him appear older than his years—which Ned guessed to be no more than thirty--and many of the others seemed to look to him as a leader of sorts. But he’d surprised Ned with what he’d said about his sentence.

He now stood there before the gathering, hands bound behind him with guards on each side. “I hate the fuckin’ wildlings!” he shouted, provoking various shouts in response from different men. “I’ve never said differently. But it wasn’t wildlings that attacked us that night and I can’t say it was. It was those things. Those dead men. I killed wildlings at Sable Hall because I was angry. Because I was scared. Because I hate ‘em.” No one was shouting in response anymore. “I killed three men who never even woke up.” He shook his head. “That was murder. Even if they were just fuckin’ wildlings. So I’ll go to the Wall because I don’t wanna die. And I won’t say it’s wrong I have to go. And maybe I can keep some of those dead men from killing any more of you. And maybe the gods will have mercy on the day I do die.” He then turned toward one of the guards and nodded toward the knot of prisoners, indicating he had said his piece and was prepared to go back to them. 

There was silence for a brief moment, and Ned stepped forward to dismiss the crowd, hopeful that the public sentencing would end on that somber, but at least peaceful note. Then he heard the arrow. He’d been in enough battles to recognize the sound instantly, and it passed by him closely enough that he swore he felt the displacement of the air. He whirled around just as it lodged in the last prisoner’s back.

“This fuckin’ wildling will see you dead today, you filthy kneeler!” came a shout, and Ned followed the sound of the voice to the rear of the gathered wildlings where a boy who appeared no older than five and ten sat upon the shoulders of another man, bow held over his head in a show of defiance.

Before Ned could say or do anything, three more arrows hit the youth square in the chest, and he toppled backwards. Then men were rushing at each other from all sides, and Ned drew Ice, which he’d carried with him for ceremonial purposes or the unlikely possibility that one of the men would change his mind and choose death. Now he held the greatsword’s hilt in both hands praying he need not shed any blood in this fight, but prepared to wield it against both wildlings and his own people if necessary to defend himself and regain order. He shouted orders to the Winterfell men as he moved into the fray, and noted with pride how quickly many of them came to his side. Young and inexperienced many of them may be, but they were not craven. He noted that Harrion Karstark was shouting at his men to fall back into a merely defensive position although not all heeded him. Halleck, surprisingly, seemed to be doing the same, with roughly similar success. Jon Umber’s voice was easily heard above most others. Like Ned, he was shouting at his men to attempt to capture rather than kill the combatants if possible.

The melee did not last very long. Ned allowed himself a very small bit of grim satisfaction that the commanders of all factions sought to end it rather than escalate it and that the majority of their men heeded their orders whether they were pleased by them or not.

At the end, in addition to the Karstark prisoner and the boy who’d fired the first arrow, fourteen additional men were dead. There were at least that many with wounds that needed sewing or set, but none of the injuries were life-threatening. None of the other Karstark prisoners were among the dead or wounded as the Winterfell and Last Hearth men serving as guards had protected the bound, unarmed men from all assaults. One guard from each House had lost their lives in that effort. 

As Ned and Jon Umber set about issuing orders concerning the burning of the dead, the treatment of the wounded, the confinement of men still attempting to fight, and an attempt to unravel precisely what all had occurred, Halleck and three of his wildlings appeared before them, pushing a bound and badly beaten man down before them on his knees.

“It was him,” Halleck said gruffly. “His son shot the kneeler. He gave him the bow and put him on his shoulders. I’m giving him to you.”

Ned looked at him. “What would you have me do with him?” he asked the wildling leader.

“Give him justice. You told me that justice was yours to dispense to all men here, didn’t you? You told me we’d have to abide by your laws here. He murdered that kneeler in cold blood just the same as if he shot the arrow. So show him some justice, Lord Stark, just like you did all those other murderers.”

There was a challenge in Halleck’s words, and no small amount of mocking. Ned was aware of many eyes upon him, and he chose to ignore it. He simply looked down at the man before him. “You willfully acted to kill an unarmed man—a bound prisoner upon whom sentence had been passed and who was under my protection. That is murder. The penalty for murder is death.”

The man on his knees began laughing. “Sure it is! For me!” he said bitterly. A murmur of angry agreement rumbled through the wildlings. 

“However,” Ned said. “I offer you the same choice I gave the men who killed your companions at Sable Hall. If you take the black—join the Night’s Watch and take the oath binding you to its service for the remainder of your life, I will spare that life.” At those words, there were even louder rumblings from the Northmen.

The man’s lip was split and bleeding, and Ned saw a tooth come out when he spat blood before he spoke his next words. “Or how about I just take the oath, but just leave when it suits me—like you did, Eddard Oathbreaker?”

 _Eddard Oathbreaker._ It wasn’t the first time he’d heard the words, but this wildling was the first man to call him such to his face. He willed himself to show no reaction although the name wounded as a blade might—because however sound his reasons had been, he had broken oaths he’d once held inviolate—first to Catelyn when he’d disavowed their marriage and joined the Watch and then again when he’d persuaded Stannis to release him from the Night’s Watch vows to return to his wife and his life as the Lord of Winterfell. Did he even have the right to pass judgment on this man? Did he have enough honor left himself? _I am not a murderer,_ he reminded himself. _I was never guilty of the crime that sent me here._ He bent to put his face closer to the kneeling man’s, but spoke clearly that anyone nearby might hear his response. “You are a murderer. I was an innocent man, forced to take the black or have my child murdered. If you cannot see the difference between these things, I cannot explain it to you. And as I was innocent, had it been only my own life and not my child’s at stake, I would have had them kill me rather than speak an oath which was a lie.” He stood back up and said even more loudly. “What is your choice?”

“I hate crows. I’d rather kill one than be one. I’d rather kill ten. Or a hundred. I won’t lie to save my skin either, so go on and kill me, Lord Stark.”

Ned nodded gravely and called for a block. Without any further words the man put his head down upon it. Taking Ice in both his hands, Ned stood over the man and spoke. “In the name of Stannis of the House Baratheon, the First of his Name, King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, by the word of Eddard of the House Stark, Lord of Wintrfell and Warden of the North, I do sentence you to die.” He had nearly spoken Robert’s name instead of his brother’s from long years of habit, and as Ice came down upon the wildling’s neck, he thought darkly of how many ills had befallen the realm since Robert’s death. Although, in truth, the troubles had started well before then—even if he himself had been completely unaware.

He shook his head to clear it of such musings and keep himself in these present troubles, handed the greatsword to a waiting Winterfell man and spoke once more to Halleck, making certain that Jon Umber and Harrion Karstark were nearby as well.

“I want the men who murdered the two who guarded the prisoners,” he said flatly. 

“A brawl is hardly a mur . . .”

“You are correct. But deliberately cutting down guards who are doing nothing but protecting a group of bound, unarmed men most assuredly is.” He looked at Jon Umber and Harrion Karstark and saw approval on both of their faces.

Halleck frowned, but did not argue the point. “Very well,” he said. “I’ll question my men and discover the names. You’ll take their heads as well then?”

“I’ll offer them the same choice I’ve offered every man convicted in this sad chain of events.” Ned took a deep breath and looked at all three men. “As for the rest of the men who took part, I fear it is unlikely we’ll ever know who struck whom first or who attacked with intent to kill and who attacked simply to keep from being killed. We shall treat all the rest of it as an abominable breakdown in discipline and a deadly, heated brawl. Any men who have been taken into custody will remain there overnight at the very least that they might cool down. See to it that the wildlings are held separately from the Northmen, would you, Lord Umber?”

The Greatjon nodded.

“After that, I task you as the commanders of your men to discipline any who need it as you see fit. Three of the dead are my men, and I now intend to see them so that I might take any personal tokens they have back to their families and assure those families I looked at their faces before I consigned them to the flames.” Ned turned on his heel then and walked to his quarters without another word.

He woke the next morning to a loud knocking on his door and opened it to find himself looking into the face of his son. 

“Jon!” he exclaimed, pulling the young man into an embrace before he could even shut the door, heedless of the fact he wore only his heavy nightshirt and thick stockings.

“It is good to see you, Father,” Jon laughed, returning the embrace. His laughter ceased sooner than Ned would have liked, however, and when he released his hold on Ned and stepped back from his embrace to close the door behind him, his long face was grim rather than smiling. “I am sorry to wake you before dawn, but . . . “

“Before dawn? Have you ridden through the nights, Jon?”

“Only this night.” He paused, pressing his lips together. “Halleck sent a man to find me and tell me what happened here today. We had only just made camp and were less than a day’s ride away so I ordered that we press on. Lady Mormont was less than joyful at that, but . . .”

“Maege? Maege Mormont is with you?” 

“Yes. When she heard you were on your way to the Wall, she wanted to speak to you personally and asked that I wait for her to join me at Castle Black. That’s what delayed my arrival.”

“I am glad you are here son, but why the sudden rush overnight?”

Jon sighed. “You need reinforcements.”

That statement actually offended Ned a bit. Today’s events had been a rather violent illustration of precisely how bad things had gotten between wildlings and Northmen, but he had restored order quickly enough.

Jon must have sensed his displeasure because he quickly added, “You handled everything as well as could have been done, Father, but you don’t understand . . .”

“I don’t understand?” Ned asked in a rather dangerous voice. What precisely did his son presume he didn’t understand?

Jon sighed. “The man you killed today—the one you executed—he’s a part of a clan that takes that sort of thing very personally.”

“I imagine death is taken personally by most people, Jon.”

“No! You don’t under . . . His family—which includes an alarming number of people—holds no real loyalty to anyone but family. And if you hurt one of theirs, they hurt you back. It doesn’t matter the cause or the right or wrong of it. You killed him, and his people will not rest until they’ve killed you. Or died trying.”

“Jon, the man was executed for murder. Even the wildlings have some notion of justice. Halleck brought him to me for the gods’ sake!”

“Not all free folk are the same, Father! Any more than all the Houses in the Seven Kingdoms are the same! You wouldn’t expect a Stark to behave like a Lannister or trust a Lannister to act as a Stark would. The free folk are no different in that.”

“So you are saying this man I executed is the wilding version of a Lannister.”

“No. He’s more a Tully.” Before Ned could protest the slander of Catelyn’s House, Jon continued. “But without any duty or honor. If this clan had House Words, they’d be Family, Family, Family.”

“Does Halleck know this man’s relatives?”

Jon sighed. “That’s just it. He didn’t even know this man was in that particular clan. He meant to test you, but he never meant . . .”

“Test me?” Ned interrupted. 

Jon sighed again. “May we sit down, Father? It’s been a rather long night and promises to be a long day.”

Ned moved to sit down on the narrow cot is his quarters and motioned Jon toward the only decent chair. Once seated, Jon began to speak again. “Halleck is a good man. A hard man with a well-earned reputation for being merciless to his enemies or even his own if they cross him, but that comes from years of fighting for himself and his people in a hard land. He does care about his people. And he’s fair. But he doesn’t trust many people this side of the Wall. He admitted to me he didn’t like me even when he agreed to hold a waycastle and fight for me. But he said he and his sister never liked Mance Rayder either, and they’d both fought for him so he might as well fight for me. We’ve come to appreciate each other a bit more since then, but I don’t know that he’ll ever truly like me. I took too much from the free folk before I let them cross.”

Ned smiled just a little. “I’ve been told you welcome wildlings with open arms, like long-lost brothers.”

Jon laughed and shook his head. “You haven’t heard that from any of the free folk.”

“No,” Ned admitted. “But how did Halleck intend to test me?”

“Whatever you said to him when you met him must have impressed him enough for him to think you might be a man who would keep his word—even to a wildling. He was angry you didn’t execute all of Cregan Karstark’s men, though.”

“I couldn’t very well . . .”

“Of course, you couldn’t. No more than I could keep all these free folk north of the Wall and then spend my days wasting my men’s blood fighting and dying to repel them every time they flung themselves at the Wall only to fight them again when they rose as wights. Doesn’t mean your actions will please anyone any more than mine have. In any event, Halleck truly thought you’d execute that man immediately in spite of whatever you’d said. When you offered him the same chance at mercy as you’d given the Karstarks, he was surprised. And pleased. Didn’t bother him any that you had to kill the man after all. It was his choice, and he did kill someone in cold blood. But when he started questioning his men about what they knew concerning who killed someone else . . .” Jon gave him a questioning look.

“Two guards. They cut down two guards in an attempt to kill the rest of the bound Karstark prisoners.”

“Ah. Well no one knew anything of them. Not that they would tell at any rate. But several men did tell him that the uncle and a cousin of the man you killed planned to sneak out of the free folk camp in order to kill you for him. He had them apprehended and killed.”

“What?” Ned exclaimed.

“Once he knew this man’s clan, he knew they would not stop until you were dead. So he had them taken and killed by men he trusted without anyone to witness it. If there are others of that clan at Sable Hall or near enough to hear of what happened here, they won’t have anyone to blame for those men’s disappearance and therefore cannot act against anyone. You, however, will still be marked by anyone of their blood for the execution you performed.”

Ned’s head swam a bit as he attempted to make sense of a people who would murder two men who might pose a threat to someone without a moment’s hesitation and consider it both necessary and just.

“I know it’s difficult to understand, but truthfully, they’re just people, Father. The differences between us and them are not any greater than some of the differences between people within the Seven Kingdom. We’ve just known those people longer so their oddities seem less . . . alien.”

Ned looked at the man he’d raised as a son and his heart filled with pride at the wisdom and maturity with which he spoke. He still worried what consequences Jon’s actions regarding the wildlings might have for Jon, the North, and indeed all the Seven Kingdoms, but any lingering doubts he might have had that Jon hadn’t fully considered his actions were erased as he listened to him speak respectfully but confidently of the knowledge he had of these people. “You speak truly, Jon. But that won’t change how people see the wildlings.”

“I know that.” Ned saw the young man’s jaw muscle tighten in a manner that was reminiscent of himself. “But Father, I can’t just leave them there to die. Not when I know what’s out there.”

The quiet intensity in Jon’s voice and the emotion in his eyes made it clear to Ned that his son was motivated by more than simply the practicality of avoiding a state of constant wasteful warfare with the wildlings. And he loved him for it. Jon was a good man, whatever his parents’ choices or Ned’s had cost him. “No,” he said softly. “You can’t.” He paused. “And I cannot allow them live here and not abide by our laws. If they truly mean to stay to the lands you give them, and do not commit crimes against our people, they may not only stay, but they will be under my protection. I will not allow them to be harmed without cause. I fear, however, they will trust my word on that no more than I or my bannermen trust theirs.”

“Halleck trusts your word. At least as much as he trusts any man’s word, including men of the free folk. That will sway some. I want you to come to Castle Black with me, Father. I want you to meet with some of the other leaders among the free folk. Soren Shieldbreaker, Sigorn of Thenn. And Val as well.”

“Val?” 

“She was Mance Rayder’s goodsister. Many of the free folk listen to her. Even Tormund Giantsbane, and he likes the sound of his own voice so much, he listens to almost no one.” Jon shrugged a bit. “The free folk will follow a woman as easily as a man if she proves herself able. Halleck’s sister, Harma Dogshead, led many men.”

Ned thought of his wife at Winterfell, of her sharp mind and quiet strength. “Mayhap they are more enlightened than we are in some ways,” he said with a small smile. “But why do you wish me to speak with these people, Jon?”

“To tell them precisely what you will and won’t allow in the North. Precisely what you can and cannot do for any of them who settle in the Gift—away from the waycastles on the Wall. I need you to tell them these things. And then to stand by it without exception. That is something they will understand and respect. Just as Halleck has. Even if they disagree with you.”

“You feel you need to instruct me to stand by my word, Jon?” Ned asked. “You believe I would give these people my word and not keep it?”

“No! It is only . . .” Jon looked decidedly uncomfortable. “You were a man of the Night’s Watch, Father. The free folk know that. And while they harbor a long hatred of the Watch, our oath is something they understand. The penalty for breaking it is well known to them. And yet you left the Night’s Watch and became Lord of Winterfell again.”

 _Eddard Oathbreaker._ “Mance Rayder was a man of the Night’s Watch, too,” Ned said darkly.

“Aye. And you would have executed him as a deserter had you ever discovered him south of the Wall.”

Ned nodded. He would have. Without a second thought. “I’ll come with you, Jon. I came to do whatever is necessary to maintain peace at least on this side of the Wall. If making an effort to prove my honor to . . . wildlings . . . is required to do that, I shall.”

Jon smiled. “You should endeavor to refer to them as free folk as well. They prefer that term to wildling.” Then he yawned. “Lord Umber knows I am here and that I intended to speak with you.”

“You woke Jon, too?” Ned asked.

“His men did that. When we arrived. I briefly explained the threat to you, asked him to put guards outside your room and asked if we could meet to speak further later in the day as all in my party are exhausted and could use a few hours sleep.”

Ned had nearly forgotten that Jon had declared him a marked man. “Guards? I hardly think guards are necessary, Jon.”

“They are, Father. I must ask you to listen to my counsel on this. I will not leave you unguarded here for a moment.”

“Jon. I appreciate your concern . . .”

“This isn’t about my concern for you. My concern must be for the Night's Watch, for the protection of the realm. You are Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell. You may well be the only man who can truly get all of these people to at least listen to each other, the only man all sides can learn to believe in. If you are killed here, we will have a war on our hands. I’d like to prevent that.”

Ned had no response for that so he simply nodded once more although he feared Jon thought too highly of his influence over his bannermen at the moment. 

After his son left, Ned lay back down upon his too narrow and abysmally uncomfortable cot. Jon had called him the only man who could get the Northmen and wildlings to listen to each other, the only man they all could believe in. Ned wasn’t even certain he believed in himself. A large part of him wanted nothing more than to ride back to Winterfell immediately—to return to his children’s laughter and his wife’s warm arms. He longed to hear Catelyn’s voice. He wished he could tell her what had occurred here, and hear her thoughts on all of it. Having regained the gift of her support and her counsel for too brief a time, he now could not fathom how he’d managed those long days and moons and years without it. But she was again in Winterfell and he was once more at the Wall, and as bitterly painful as that was to contemplate, it seemed he must remain here for the foreseeable future. 

He thought of Robb, even further from him now, and wondered what news of Stannis’s war he’d be able to receive at the Wall. Mayhap Castle Black, at least, would be reasonably well informed. He prayed fervently for his son’s safety and for his victory in battle. Then he endeavored to fix his mind upon the seemingly impossible task set before him here. 

As he closed his eyes and asked the gods for the strength and wisdom to accomplish what he must, he heard words remarkably similar to those Jon had said, but spoken in the clear voice of his own lady Catelyn. _If a lot of stubborn, proud Northmen are going to listen to anyone, it’s you._ He smiled, recalling how she’d said that to him when Jon Umber’s letter had arrived and she’d unhappily but determinedly insisted he come to the Wall. _Thank you, my love,_ he thought. _You are here for me even when you are far away._ It struck him that both the boy he’d made a bastard and the woman he’d shamed by that choice believed unwaveringly in his ability to stand strong and honorably for the North. He felt both shamed and impossibly blessed that the two people he’d given the greatest reason to doubt his honor still placed such faith in him, and he silently vowed he would do whatever he must to be worthy of it.


End file.
